Shocked Into Reality
by ArmagonAuthor
Summary: When Sam wakes up tied to a table and not quite sure how he got there, he is greeted by a woman with a love for pain and a sense of creativity. Now Dean must face his past in order to save his brother, and Sam must face his future in order to survive.
1. Chapter 1

Sam's world was fuzzy as he pulled himself back into consciousness. "Wha…"He started to speak out loud, but a gag in front of his mouth prevented it. _Damn… _ _Where am I? _He swore inwardly, maybe because of all the time he spent with Dean, and tugged at his arms and legs automatically, to no avail. _Seriously, what the hell!_ He closed his eyes again, blinking a few times as his head cleared. He was in a very bright room, laying on something hard. The floor maybe?

He very slowly tilted his head to the side, his eyes coming across white walls and lots of granite countertops that offered lots of space under the roomy wooden white cabinets that gave way to glass inserts, showing various bottles, jars and boxes inside. Judging by his height compared to the countertops, he wasn't on the floor. He was on a table of some sort, like in a hosp- _Hospital! Duh!_

He looked around again, growing more and more confused. If he was in a hospital, why was he strapped to a table? And what was with the gag? He tugged at his restrains a bit more, trying unsuccessfully to spit out the gag. _How did I even get here?_ He thought hard, trying to come up with something, _anything_, to explain how he ended up like this.

_Okay think Sam…_ He concentrated, his head still fuzzy. The last thing he remembered was heading out to a bar to hustle pool with Dean – as they did every so often as to not go broke – and came back to their hotel room with easily a thousand bucks. It wasn't exactly honest work Sam knew, but considering all the lives they saved on a regular basis for free; this was a way to make money that seemed more than acceptable. Much to Dean's dismay, Sam had actually brought most of the money home this time. During the four months when Dean had been in hell, and the other six when the trickster had let Dean die, Sam had gotten pretty good at hustling pool and poker. That was, when he kept his head. And with his brother back, it was a lot easier to stay sober. Sam wasn't exactly innocent when it came to substance abuse, it kind of came with being a Winchester, but he had let most of it slide.

So when they got back to the hotel… What had happened? _Oh yeah…_ Sam realized with a sigh. There had been _that_. The big fight. But considering how much Dean and Sam seemed to fight lately, it might have been considered a little fight to most people, but it was still pretty bad. It didn't really matter what they were fighting about – and at the moment Sam was too dizzy to remember – but he guessed it fell into one of their usual "fight-about" categories. It was either Sam's powers (people never really got sick of that… did they?), the whole religion discussion (again!), the why-would-you-spend-so-much-time-with-Ruby discussion (as if Sam hadn't heard that one before), or the fight that always seemed to come up about why Dean wouldn't open up about hell. Whatever it was really about… it hadn't ended well. There was yelling, maybe a punch or two, and maybe even some broken furniture. Their fights never really did end well. Sam had left to go get some air – Dean was never one to leave in the middle of a fight without getting his say, and Sam didn't want to give him that satisfaction. So that ended up with him leaving Dean alone in the motel room. Dean was then left brooding alone in the motel, and Sam had been brooding alone behind the gas station. _Why does this sound familiar?_

Then when Sam got back he had… Well… What had he done? Had he and Dean resolved their fight? Made up? Used the silent treatment? Sam hesitated, finding the flaw in his own mental story. Maybe he never went back. Maybe… He looked around again. Maybe he ended up here. What if someone… or something, had caught him off guard when he was out walking, knocked him out, and taken him back here? It didn't seem so crazy. But why the hospital, if that's where he really was?

Slowly, as if seeing it for the first time – he probably had, actually – he looked upon the heavy metal door that was locked, bolted, and seemed airtight enough to contain a nuclear bomb. So Sam had been taken to a hospital by who-knows-what for who-knows-what reason. But if he had ended up in here… then what did they want with him? And where, Sam wondered with a flare of panic, was Dean?

"Good morning Sam," a petite woman who appeared to be in her late twenties entered, carrying a clipboard and pushing a small trolley. Sam wasn't sure where she had come from, because the door was still closed, but it seemed that there was a door behind him also, but no matter how he strained his he couldn't see it. He turned his head to look at the woman, unsure if she was enemy or friend. Or if she was even human, although so far the answer seemed to be yes. She was attractive, with think wavy brunette hair pulled into a messy ponytail, thin-rimmed glasses that magnified startling brown eyes, and pouty lips that made her look like Angelina Joilie but with less makeup and slight dark circles under her eyes. "And how are we today?"

Sam frowned up at her, creasing his brow. He wasn't sure whether to glare or not because, even though he was strapped to a table, she technically hadn't done anything to hurt him. He went to speak again but choked on the gag, and the woman sighed softly to herself.

"Oh Sam you know that wont do any good," She scolded as if to a three-year-old, and turned her back on him to search her cart for something, humming a tune softly to herself as she did so. After a few seconds – during which Sam could have asked a million questions if he could talk – She pulled out a cord attached to what looked like a hairpin made of sewing needles. Sam felt his heartbeat race. What the heck was that? She wasn't going to use that on him, was she? The woman seemed to read his mind, clicking her tongue at him softly and shaking her head. "Now Sam, don't tell me you are afraid of a little needle, are you?"

The woman took a few steps towards Sam, the needle-contraption in hand, and Sam tried to pull away, tugging at his bonds and shaking violently, his muscles tensing up. The woman stopped, sighing. "Now Sam, I was under the impression that we were going to have a pleasant day together. I'd rather not have you disappoint me." At first Sam had been wondering if the woman was insane, but after a while he began to wonder if the tone in the woman's voice was mocking him. Maybe it wasn't hysteria at all. It could just be pure menace. Or both. It didn't really matter, Sam realized. She still wanted to hurt him. He thrashed around for another minute hopelessly, during which the woman shook her head in disgust. "Now Sam, I can see that you aren't being very cooperative in our little experiment. I was so exited to meet you, and now you are starting to put a downer on my mood. The only one of your kind left with demon blood, you should be exited to be a part of this experiment."

_Stop saying experiment! _Sam looked worriedly around the room, wondering how he could break free. How did she know about his demon blood? What was she going to do? Experiment how?

The woman grabbed a needle from the table, and pushed the tip into a vial of a clear liquid, filling it half full before turning to Sam. "Now I don't want you ruining this and hurting yourself again, okay?" She started towards him.

_Again? What is she talking about? What is that?!_ Sam tried to pull away but it was no use. The woman reached for his head, and for a second he thought she was going to put the needle in his neck, but she merely pulled away the gag, throwing the cloth on the floor.

"What do you want with me? What are you doing?" Sam gasped, trying to reason with the woman. He looked her over desperately. She was wearing a nametag that said Jane. "Jane, listen, I didn't do anything. I didn't" –

"Shh…"She put a hand over his mouth, silencing him with a surprisingly strong grip for someone of her size. " It will all be okay Sam. It's okay." She turned her head to the side and shoved the needle into his bicep, releasing the liquid into his bloodstream. Pulling her hand away, Jane watched with curiosity as Sam fought for another minute, trying harder than ever to break free.

"What do you want with me," Sam repeated urgently, trying to fight back panic. "I didn't… I'm not… Where's my brother?" He jerked again, trying to pull free.

"You are just going to make it work faster," She offered, as if a teacher informing her student of information he should know but didn't. " The faster your heart beats, the faster the blood pumps and the faster it will spread."

"Where's my… Dean…"Sam slowed, his body shutting down. He was sending the signals, but his limbs weren't getting them. She had paralyzed him! "Dean…"Sam felt his head slump to one side as the liquid took its effect and he let it, unable to stop his head from hitting the side of the table. He concentrated as hard as he could, thinking about his feet, his hands, trying without avail to move.

"Good now, are you going to cooperate?" The woman's voice was cheerful again, which somehow did nothing for Sam's nerves. He could only lay there in despair as she turned to the table again, picking up the needle-tube-machine. "This might sting a bit dear." She lifted his head a bit – Sam felt himself panicking – and slumped it forwards, the back of his neck showing, and felt with her fingers along his spine.

_Oh no… Please God no…_ Sam felt as something pressed against one of his vertebrae. Something was triggered – he heard her push it into place – and the needles slid crosswise back, locking the tube against his spine. A shock of pain ran up into his hairline and down into his torso, causing a feeling of nausea to overcome Sam's limp form. If what Sam thought was happening was what was really happening, then he was screwed. He remembered seeing in some movie or other - Spiderman, maybe - some man lock a machine into his spine just below the brain like the one that Sam had just had inserted into his body. _No, no please no…_ He heard another slide and felt something pierce the skin at the back of his neck, and for a moment everything went silent. Sam was screaming mentally, yelling every curse word and vile horrible thing that he knew Dean would say and more, but he couldn't move. His lips didn't flicker; his eyes didn't blink of their own accord. He was paralyzed.

Slowly, the woman laid Sam's head back down, careful not to disrupt her invention, and moved to the table again, pulling out two more tubes. Sam, who was still screaming to no one's ears, heard his heart rate increase; unable to stop what he knew was coming. The woman approached him and, somewhat to Sam's relief, did not try to stick anything into his spine but simply stuck two needles into his chest, one under each collarbone. Sam recognized the spots with confusion. They were pressure points. Nerve endings. But why…

Back to the table the woman went, and Sam wanted to look her way but found he couldn't. Even his eyes were stuck looking at the ceiling without his control. The anesthetic had finally taken complete hold of him. When Jane came back into his line of vision, she had a small machine on the cart with wires and tubes attached. It looked like it had been altered somehow, with extra wires and pieces of copper taped into places that didn't seem natural. Sam couldn't focus on the words across the front very well, but he thought he saw "Shock Treatment" . Sam was panicking inside again, but he found that not even his heartbeat would change. She had been altering the machine somehow, changing it. Sam knew that shock treatments didn't involve tapping into the spine, but apparently this one did. The woman leaned over him again, and he tried his hardest to glare but couldn't. He realized with a pang that he hadn't blinked in over a minute. The woman, seeming to sense this, smiled. She rested her fingers on his eyelids, closing them softly. "It's okay Sam," Her voice was gentle, but Sam heard the menace in it. She was enjoying this. _Please… No…_ He heard her footsteps fall away from him in the direction of the machine and he heard the sound of electricity buzzing, then sparks where heard. After a few seconds, it sounded like a car engine being revved up. Then the sound of her flicking a switch. Suddenly pain was everywhere, trailing from his spine all across his unmoving body. He screamed in his head, but no one could hear him. After a while, he couldn't even hear himself.

_Dean…_


	2. Chapter 2

Dean pulled his face off the cold wood of the table as he was woken up by a noise outside. He rolled his neck around, trying to get the kink out from sleeping on such a weird angle. Another noise came outside, and Dean looked up sleepily. "…Sam?" He stood up sluggishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand and cursing the fact that he fell asleep like that. As usual, he had been waiting for his stupid brother to come home after their stupid fight went stupidly wrong. He thought that it would be better to wait up untill Sam got back. They either had to finish the fight or make up, but Dean must have fallen asleep waiting for the big oaf to come home. Kicking a newspaper out of his way, Dean stopped to take a swig off his coffee, and was disappointed to find it cold. He looked to the door. Sam still hadn't come in. Maybe he forgot his key.

"You keep forgetting your key, and your going to get into trouble someday when I don't let you in," Dean said loudly through the door as he undid the deadbolt and threw open the door to –

Nothing. Sam wasn't there.

_Wha…_

Stepping out of the door a few steps, Dean almost expected his brother to jump out of the bushes shouting "Surprise!" But he knew Sam wouldn't do that. And Dean's hunter-senses told him that something wasn't right. "S-Sam?" He tried to repress a flare of panic that erupted in his gut. _God no… Not again. Not again. _Dean tried to laugh at himself, saying that Sam was fine. _It's just the wind Dean. Sam's still out. He'll be back soon. He… He will. He will Dean._ Dean, despite his best efforts, couldn't be convinced. "Sam?" Something just wasn't right. "_Sam_!" Dean hesitated, taking a few steps behind him, and stepped on something that he hadn't noticed in front of his hotel door. Slowly, he bent down to pick it up. It was a brown envelope, marked clearly with a stamp and Dean's footprint across the middle. He stared at it a minute, confused. It was marked in big scrawled writing:

- _To: Mr. Dean Winchester. _

Above that, in a blurred stamp, it read:

- _Name:__Dean Winchester_

_- DOB:__January 24th, 1979_

_- POB:__Lawrence, Kansas_

_- Residence: 67' __Chevy Impala__ (License Plate __CNK 80Q3)_

_- Phone Number: 1-866-907-3235._

_- Height:__6' 1"_

_- Weight:__175 lbs._

_- Hair:__Brown_

_- Eyes:__Brown_

_Living Relatives: Samuel Winchester_

_-From: Ms. Jane Walberg_

_-Returning Address: Unlisted._

_What the hell?_ Dean flipped the envelope over a couple times, brushing off his footprint to get a better look at the numbers. _How does this chick know all this stuff?_ He looked again. His real phone number, his birthday, address, personal information, family ties, his car, they were all listed. Hell, his height was written on the cover of an envelope! And how did this Jane woman know his knew license plate number? _This is just getting weirder and weirder by the second…_ Dean looked around again, getting the sudden feeling that he was being watched. And even worse, feeling that he was being watched and still unable to talk to his brother about it. _Get home Sammy…_ Dean stepped back through the doorway, bolting the door behind him. He shut the blinds, dimmed the lights, and loaded his shotgun, sticking his 45' rifle in his back waistband. Then, after that, he sat down at the table to read the mysterious envelope. He read the cover a few more times, stumped, and finally slid his finger into the paper and ripped it open. He pulled out a long sheet of paper, formal style just like the envelope. He unfolded it carefully, frowning. It read:

_Dean Winchester, _

_Your brother Samuel had paid me the honor of his company from the dates of January 20__th__ henceforth, and shall be notifying you the second we wish him to return from our party. All preparation of his expected visit has been made. Your brother is quite entertaining, a real treat, and a pleasure to see. I concur that his visit will be long and well appreciated by the both of us, and as such I apologize for allowing his stay without your permission. You will be contacted in a few days as to the status of our party, and I'm sure you will have many entertaining stories to hear. Do not worry a bit; your brother is in good hands. If either of our current situations change, you will be notified immediately. Your brother is a very interesting person to be around, and not a hair on his pretty little head will be harmed when I return him to you. __Sam sends you his greetings._

_Sincerely and with much gratitude, _

_Ms. Jane Walberg._

_PS, As to the truthfulness of this note, I had a fleeting suspicion that you would doubt my intentions. I included inside this envelope a token of my sincerity. Two days from now, at midnight, you will wait for me at the corner of 5th and second. Be alone and you will get to see your brother. I am a woman of my word._

_Dean read the letter again, more confused then ever. What the hell! He paused on certain phrases, unsure of what the woman was trying to get at, but eventually his eyes settled on the last line. "I had a fleeting suspicion that you would doubt my intentions. I included inside this envelope a token of my sincerity." A token as in… as in what? Almost afraid to find out, Dean hesitated before setting the letter aside. Grabbing the envelope with both hands, he turned it upside down. Nothing fell out. Unsatisfied still, he stuck a hand inside, feeling along the crease until his fingers brushed a piece of something that had been stuck in the very back corner. Pulling it out slowly, he frowned. It was a picture. He took a deep breath, turning it to face him, and couldn't help catching his breath in his throat at the sight of his little brother, bound and gagged, on a table. His face was pale but calm, and from the chest-and-up view Dean got he couldn't see any wounds on Sam at all. His face, actually, looked surprisingly calm. As if he was asleep. Dean frowned. "Not a hair on his pretty little head will be harmed when I return him to you." What the hell was she going to do to his brother?!_

_Looking again at the picture, Dean ran a hand through his stubbly hair, biting his lip. Just a few minutes ago he had been worried about what the outcome of the fight would be, and now he had much worse things to worry about. Sam…_


	3. Chapter 3

It was cold. Sam wasn't sure when he woke up, or how long ago it had been, but he had begun to realize that he was cold. Even without moving he could feel the Goosebumps on his skin. He could feel the air moving from an open window across his bare arms, although he wasn't aware of whether he shivered or not. In fact, he wasn't aware of whether he had moved or not since he woke up. Or maybe… just maybe he hadn't woken up. Maybe this was just some sick, twisted dream that he would wake up from by Dean pushing him awake. He could almost hear his brother's voice in his ear, shouting about the coffee getting cold, or asking why Sam didn't leave any hot water for a shower. He could picture Dean rolling his eyes when Sam did something stupid, or raising his voice when he got mad at something equally stupid. Right now, Sam realized as he tried to move his muscles again to find resistance, he would pay anything to do something stupid and hear Dean raise his voice.

As Sam began to feel more around him, his mind as well as his muscles started to move again. Other than the cold – and it was so freaking cold! – it was dark around him. There were shafts of light coming in through the cracks of large wooden boards on the walls, and Sam could see the edge of darkness outside. Wait… hadn't he been in a hospital? Sam thought about that for a second, turning the idea over in his mind. Had he just imagined it? No… Sam realized. It was real. Jane's nametag, the countertops, the hard table, had all been real. So where was he now?

The coldness was a clue, Sam was beginning to think. But what would being cold have to do with anything? He closed his eyes, flexing his muscles as much as he could right now, and the cold air made the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand up. Okay… Sam concentrated, hating how sluggish his mind was being. Were his arms a clue? He flexed again, and didn't come up with anything.

_Okay… stupid idea. But honestly… why did the t-shirt have to be short sleeve?_

Sam's mind did a double take. T-shirt. He wasn't wearing one.

Officially creeped out, Sam frowned. Now why the hell wasn't he wearing a shirt. This was just freaking weird! Mentally, he did a double check. He _was_ wearing pants though. Thank god for that… But why couldn't he get some socks or something. A blanket even?

Cautiously Sam tilted his head from side to side stiffly and heard it crack a few times. He was really starting to bring new meaning to the saying "That's going to hurt in the morning," now wasn't he? Or… well maybe it was night. Sam couldn't really tell. This stupid room was starting to get on his nerves. Where did the cupboards go? And the countertops? And the white door? And his shirt? Didn't Jane care that he was freezing to death down here?!

Suddenly, as if a switch had flipped, another thought came to his mind. Maybe the cold wouldn't have to kill him, if Jane had her way.

There was something else in the air Sam recognized. It was the scent of rust and mildew, accompanied by… what was that? Sam's ears perked up right away. It sounded like static from a microphone. Now that couldn't be good.

The static got louder, until Sam's ears picked up shuffling on the other end. A voice cracked onto the room from a speaker somewhere.

"Let's play a little game."

Sam felt himself tense up, knowing right away that those words meant trouble. But another part of his brain clicked into motion. No… he had heard those words before. That voice was familiar, as was the phrase. Sam remembered it from somewhere… Was that a recording of the guy from the movie Saw?

If Sam wouldn't have been completely confused and terrified out of his wits, he would have laughed out loud. He even managed a hint of a grin at the thought. _Saw?_ This Jane woman was using recordings from the movie _Saw, _of all things.

"Jane…"Sam's voice echoed back at him in off the walls. " Uh, I hate you ruin your fun or anything… but I've already seen this movie. And for the record, you seem a bit classy for Jigsaw, but that's just me."

Silence.

_Okay… wrong approach._ Sam shook his head internally at himself. What did he expect, a standing ovation? And when he thought about it, Jane really did deserve more respect than that… she was, after all, in charge of the machine that electrocuted him last time. Sam shivered at the thought of last time. Hopefully, there wouldn't be a _next_ time. But other than the shock machine… this wasn't scary. Did she really think that recordings would scare him? Honestly?

Lifting his head a little bit, Sam looked around the room. Okay… when he thought about it, this deserted old cabin _did_ seem like the kind of place that Jigsaw would set up shop… and those crowbars on the wall didn't look appetizing. And there was a really big saw in the corner, Sam noticed with a gulp. It was the kind of round saw used to cut through logs in the fifties by lumberjacks. _Okay… I admit, that's kind of creepy. _Sam tried to tap into his inner Winchester, drawing forth any sarcasm that could possibly distract him right now. _Maybe she really likes horror movies…_ The next thought that popped into his head wasn't good either. _Why does this look familiar?_

The recorded sound of Jigsaw's voice came back on the loudspeaker, and Sam had trouble understanding the jumble of words playing. When the roaring of the saw in the back started, he jolted upwards to see what was happening. Someone had turned the saw on, and it was running full speed at a good 90 degree angle with his stomach. Sam didn't get it. Why was the machine way over there? Then, the ground underneath him started to move towards the machine, and he understood.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Bobby woke up with a snort as the cell phone beside his bed rang. Grumbling, he picked it up, reading the caller ID. _Dean_. He sighed, flipping it open. "This had better be dang good boy. Do you have any idea what time it" –

"Bobby," Dean's anxious voice interrupted before he could finish. "Bobby he's gone."

Sighing, Bobby tried to clear his head enough to wake up. "…Who's gone son?"

"Sam. We uh… had another fight and then he left and he never came back and then I found" –

"Whoa, slow down Dean. Now say that all again. Nice and slow, please."

"I…"Bobby could hear Dean taking a few deep breaths. " Sam and I had another fight, and he left. You know how he is… And I waited but he didn't show. After a while there was this knock on the door, and I answered it but no one was there. I went outside and found this package, and it had my real name on it and everything. It had my car and my real phone number listed, and even my police record that says I have brown eyes… although they are really green… but then I was reading it… and there was a picture and…"

"Dean… Relevant details only please. I love you to death kid, but I don't give a rat's petunia about the colour of your eyes. Now what about _Sam_?"

More sighing. Dean sounded really upset. "Bobby… This Jane chick left me a letter, asking if I could 'lend' her Sam, or something like that. She made it sound like he was having a sleepover at the riz, but the way she wrote some things makes me think that something's not right. I think she's going to do something to Sam. And she left me this picture inside the envelope, of Sam tied to a table. It was like proof or something. And the letter said that in a few days I she would contact me… Bobby I don't know what I'm supposed to do. This is just like damn Cold Oaks all over again!"

Bobby was already out of bed, shoving his arms in his jacket sleeves and buttoning up his coat. As usual, his trucker hat was glued to his head. "Okay Dean, I'm coming. Where are you?"

"Just a couple hours out I think. This town called Radiance."

Bobby huffed. "That's kind of ironic, don't you think."

"Not helping Bobby."

"Alright Dean, I get 'cha. Look, we'll find Sam. Just like we always do. He'll be fine."

It was Dean's turn to huff. "That's what I'm worried about Bobby."

"…What?"

"We didn't find him in time last time. I… I can't let him die again Bobby. I can't. I don't want to have to do something I regret…"Dean faded off, leaving out the words they both thought but didn't say. He merely finished with. "I _cant_."

"You will do no such thing boy!" Bobby tried his best to sound like John, knowing that any fatherly authority was best for Dean right now, both to keep him from doing something stupid and to let him know that he wasn't alone. "Now listen to me," he continued. "I'm driving down to Radiance now, so you just sit tight. Okay? Now stay calm and watch your back incase this Jane woman is watching you. Keep the doors locked, and I'll call you when I get there. Don't do anything _stupid_ okay?" And they both knew what he meant by stupid, because it was a long list.

There was hesitancy. Dean wasn't sure. Bobby shook his head, unable to understand why Dean was so eager to do this all the time. Sam was his brother sure, and even Bobby would jump in front of a bus for the kid, but Dean was just taking it to another level. He _already_ made a deal, and now he wanted to do it again?

"Dean…"Bobby warned, his voice a double-meaning. " You wait for me, okay?"

"Uh… Okay." Dean sighed. "Okay Bobby. I'll wait."

"Good. Now take care of yourself, you got that?"

"Yea Bobby. I will."

"You'd better. I'll call you later." Bobby hung up, his forehead creasing. Wow… there was no doubt about it. Those boys really were going to be the death of him someday.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Good afternoon sleepyhead," Sam woke to the sound of someone cooing in his ear, and something brushing his hair back from his forehead. His eyes shot open, and his head immediately pulled away from the touch even before he recognized Jane's voice. "I thought you were going to sleep all day, Sam."

Realizing that he wasn't paralytic anymore, Sam felt himself pulling on the restrains. Nothing. Still, he at least had the capability to glare Jane's way as he caught her in his view. He was about to talk, but realized that he was gagged again. Since he couldn't say anything that he wanted to Jane – much of which had included an R-rated vocabulary – he took a minute between fuming to remember what had just happened.

"Sweet dreams Sam?" Jane smiled, her eyes glinting with dark humor. "I love horror movies, don't you?"

Sam checked himself internally, coming back confused. He was fine… But that was impossible. He shouldn't even be alive. And the… _Wait,_ Sam caught himself. _Where's the cabin? Who put my shirt back on? _ His mind was doing back flips. The hospital was real; he knew that. But so was the cabin… and the saw.

The image of the saw came back into Sam's mind, and he shivered. Something had gone wrong. He had been moving _towards _the saw, even sworn that the saw had gotten him. Getting sawed in half wasn't exactly a thing to forget. But that was impossible, he realized as he looked down to his chest.

Sam's jaw tightened in anger, but he couldn't talk back. Jane seemed to find this funny, and merely pulled the gag aside as if she couldn't wait to hear Sam yell at her.

"It was real," Sam choked out as the gag was pulled away. "You made it real somehow."

Jane cocked her head to the side like she didn't understand. "I made what?"

"The… the saw, and the voice and the…"The saw. The voice. It all went around backwards in his head, along with the painful memory of what happened afterwards. He shouldn't be alive. The memory was too vivid to be fake. "You made the movie real somehow."

"Oh now don't tell me you don't like Saw?" Jane faked astonishment. "It's one of my favorites."

"But… it's… you…"Sam felt so stupid. Had he dreamt the whole thing? Was it even possible to have that good of an imagination? Sam shuddered to himself. No. He wasn't crazy… she had made the movie real… somehow. And then made him healthy and whole again… somehow. But he wasn't _crazy_.

"Tsk, tsk, tisk," Jane clicked her tongue against her teeth, frowning. "Nightmares, huh? Now that wont do one bit" –

"Cut the crap!" Sam felt his temper rising. He _knew_ that she understood what he was saying. She staged the whole thing! "I'm not stupid, okay? I know that you did something to make it real. So how did you do it?"

"…Do what?"

"You know."

Suddenly Jane's "Martha Stuart" smile had much more malice than was meant to be seen. It was almost scary. And considering the circumstances right now, Sam wouldn't deny that he elevated it to _very_ scary. "Sam…"She shook her head slowly, her face still a creepy plastered smile. " You shouldn't ask answers for questions that you aren't supposed to know. That could lead to trouble."

"I'll take my chances." Sam's bravado was starting to fade, but he stared anyways without letting his fear show on his face.

Jane nodded thoughtfully, smiling. "That's why I like you Sam."

"What do you _want_ with me?"

"I want…"Jane put her hand to her chin, as if posing in an add for the perfect thinker. " I want to know what your favorite horror movie is." She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I…what?!" Sam didn't get it. "Why do you care what my…."He drifted off as it hit him, strong and hard as a punch in the face. She wanted _him_ to choose was going to happen to him next. It was like methods in torture. Choose or die.

The shock on his face must have showed, because Jane laughed. "Oh common Sammy! You don't watch horror movies? What with your profession, I thought you would be a little tougher that that." She pulled out a stack of DVD's from a table, shoving one in a strange machine at random.

"Wait!" Sam tried to distract her, knowing what was coming. "Whoa… Let's just talk about this for a sec. W-Why _are_ you interested in me?"

Yet again, Jane laughed. "Sam, you are either completely ignorant or an amazing actor. How could you _not_ know, what with being psychic and all?"

"I can't read minds," He admitted, figuring that he should get that out in the open right away. "Never have. I'm not psy" –

"Oh but you can do other things, cant you Sam?" Jane began pacing the length of the bed, lost in thought. "And you can train yourself to read minds… if you really want to."

Hesitating, Sam already knew what was coming. "…but I don't."

"What about telekinesis?" Jane's smile intensified. She reminded Sam of a little girl at Christmas time, but instead of toys, she got Sam. _Great…_

Sam shook his head angrily, getting impatient. "… Look, I don't want to be telekinetic either, okay?"

Jane sighed dramatically, pausing at the foot of the bed with her back to Sam. He could hear something tapping, maybe a fingernail on the tabletop. "What I'm trying to say Sam…"He could practically sense her sighing. " Is that you can be anything you want to, _do_ anything you want to." She lifted a hand as if gesturing to someone, and held it in the air for a second. Sam watched her flick a finger slightly, and then the glass on one of the cabinets broke into a million little pieces. Heart racing, Sam felt the pieces in his own mind fall _into_ place about who or what Jane might actually be. "Anything…"Jane continued as if she had never made the motion, letting her hands fall back to her sides. " That you could possibly imagine." Slowly Jane turned back to look at Sam, her eyes hard. "And you _don't_. You waste your abilities, Sam."

Unsure what to say, Sam hesitated. Why was everyone obsessed with his powers? It was either one side or the other. They either wanted him to go full psychic or not at all. No one ever cared about how hard he was trying now.

"Under the right circumstances, I learned to tap into my own gifts." Jane lifted an eyebrow, continuing with her little monologue. "And so can you. Sometimes it just takes a little push."

Suddenly the implications of what she was saying made sense. She thought she could break him into using his powers. "It… It doesn't work like that," Sam said quickly, trying to keep his voice steady. Truth be told, he had no clue what worked which way. But lying was his only help right now. "It wont work by" –

"Then how will it work Sam?" Jane's voice was on edge now, as if she was loosing her temper. Sam knew that was a bad sign. "Please, tell me. Because I'm offering a way to help you," She gestured with her head to a machine – this one new to Sam, unlike the shock machine – behind her.

"Help… Yeah _thanks_ for that by the way." Sam nodded sarcastically and huffed. "I feel the good karma already." Sam frowned down at her hand, stroking the surface of the machine. He wished that she would just take a few steps back, even if it would just clear his head. "What _is_ that anyways, Doctor Feel-Good?" He threw in another sarcastic hit, trying to mask the fear welling up inside him. What the hell _was_ that?

"It's like High Definition," Jane's voice was soft, as if describing the perfect brand product. "Makes movies seem very _real_. At least that's what my _other _friends have told me…"She laughed; a low, menacing cackle that didn't suit her at all, and turned back to Sam, grabbing another tranquilizer needle.

"It won't work, you know." Sam managed to keep on his sarcastic charade, but his jaw tightened apprehensively. "I have people looking for me already. They'll find me soon."

"I'm counting on that, dear." Jane filled the needle with clear substance again, ignoring Sam as he pulled on the cuffs again. "And for the record…"She set the vial back down on the counter, turning back to face Sam with the needle in her hand. " It will work. It always works…"

Sam couldn't fight the needle as it entered his arm, nor the venom that spread soon after. It spread quicker this time, with the rate that Sam's heart was beating. This time, it wasn't being controlled.

"Well anyways Sam…"Jane's face flashed before his eyes before they closed. He could hear the whizzing of machinery in the background. "Enjoy the show."


	4. Chapter 4

Sam's eyes moved downward towards his feet, until he saw the clock on the wall. 2:13, it read. _In the morning?_ Sam looked briefly around again, looking for some sign of what time of day it was. How many days had it been? How many seasons? Where was he and how he hell did he get there?

The questions blurred over time – although Sam was never really sure of time, and was half-convinced that some of this was just all in his head – and linked with others. He still couldn't tell what day it was, what time it _really_ was, or even where he was. At one point, he was never really sure when, Sam had finally caught on to the fact that nowhere was safe. He had eventually stopped wondering what rooms were real and what were fabricated, and what people were from movies or not. Was the electroshock machine even real? Were the saws and the people from the movies real? Was Jane even real? Did it matter?

The clock ticked away steadily, and Sam's eyes moved back to the moving second-hand. The clock looked pretty real. He could _see_ it. He could _hear_ it. And if he could sit up, he was pretty sure he would be able to reach up and _feel_ it. But did that make it real?

_Dean, where are you?_

Jane's voice hit his ears, and he zoned out what she was saying on impulse. _Oh yeah…_ Sam grunted to himself. He almost believed that she was just a nightmare, although he knew better. Nightmares never felt this real. And when you had nightmares you woke up. Sam knew that for sure… and had had his fair share of nightmares.

Jane kept talking, and Sam just focused on the fake mellow sound of her voice, pretending that it was that of someone he cared about. What kind of woman's voice would he _want_ to hear? Jess? Mom? Could he even try and remember what mom sounded like? Sam shoved a billion memories of the people he loved in his head like he would never seeing them again, tasting them all on his memory like wine. In a few seconds, he wouldn't be choosing his memories anymore. So he remembered… Dad, lifting him onto his shoulders to see the loons swim across the lake. Jess, laughing as she spun around to music in their living room. Dean, smirking as he pointed out yet another ditsy dumb blonde who was winking their way. _"Dude," _Sam could practically hear his brother's voice beside him. _ "She's so your type."_

_Sam had replied with an eye roll. "Dean… You forget that I'm four years younger than you."_

_"So?!"_

_"Well that woman could easily be ten years older than me."_

_"Do you see _her_ complaining?"_

Slowly, almost drawing out the motion, Sam wiggled his fingers. They were still his to move, at least for a few more seconds. He tried to keep his arm as still as possible, knowing that the inevitable needle would come whether he fought it or not. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and felt Jane smack him gently on the cheek.

"Don't pretend to be asleep Sammy, I'm not that stupid."

Sam's eyes shot open in a glare, shooting away from her touch instantly. "Sam."

"What was that, Sammy?" Jane had her back to him now, preparing another needle as casually and calm as the freaking evil Martha Stuart wanabe that she was. If looks could kill, Sam would have had her dead and buried by now, but alas his glares did not pierce her clean white overcoat or her pretty brunette pony. Jane turned back to Sam with her head tilted to the side, as if she hadn't heard him. "Sorry, I missed that."

"I said…"Sam repeated through clenched teeth. "My name is _Sam._ Not _Sammy_, not _Samuel,_ its _Sam._"

"Ooh, _somebody_ woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning." Jane clicked her tongue against he back of her teeth as if scolding a child.  
"It's not a bed… it's a table. And I'm pretty sure there is only _one_ side, or else I would have a little more legroom." Sam knew there was no point even talking to Jane at all, let alone making her mad. It wouldn't do anything but make things worse. Jane was, if not completely evil, at least a psychopathic sadist. And Sam had learned one thing in the past few days in the past few days. Don't. Piss. Jane. Off. But still, the Winchester in Sam always put pride before self-preservation, no matter how reckless that might be. And that meant to lip her off at every opportunity. It didn't matter what was happening. As long as he could fight back, there would be arms – or in this case words – swinging.

"So I was out renting movies last night…"

_Oh joy…_

"And I found a couple that you might like." Jane set a large pile on the counter heavily, for the benefit of Sam's ears of course, and smiled as if she had just told him she was about to take him out for ice-cream. Sam wanted to shove her pretty little face in an ice-cream _blender_. "And I even managed to find a few directors-cut editions too."

_Just shoot me now…_

Ignoring any possible fear, Sam grinned back at her just as widely. "Do I get to pick the first one?"

This didn't seem to the answer Jane was going for, and her face fell slightly. "…What?"

"Well I don't usually let women tie me up," Sam looked sarcastically at the table. "So I get to decide how the date is going to go then."

For a second, Jane didn't say anything. Her face, as always, was never less than a thoughtful – yet menacing – grin. Maybe she recognized what Sam was doing. It had been _her_ idea for Sam to pick the movie, and now it was his idea. Turning her own blackmail back on her. Well… not really. Sam was still the one who had to be _in _the movie, but Jane wouldn't get the satisfaction of knowing he was scared.

And Sam was scared… The last thing he wanted to do was look at the pile of movies in front of him and pick how he was going to die. And then die again. And again. His life was starting to become like the freaking spinning teacups at Disney World! Around and around and around we go….

_Yea-freaking-ha…_

"Go ahead then." Jane set down the needle and spread out about five moves in her hands like a fan, so that Sam could tilt his head to see all the titles.

_Which door holds the executioner…?_

Sam frowned at the titles, hating this sick game of hers. Now it wasn't down to how to survive – because no movie ever let him survive – but how to pick a movie that would hold the quickest and easiest way to go. Of course, her movie selections just got less classy every time, so that chance was getting lessened by the day.

"You know Sam…"Jane's voice was softer again, and more threatening. " This little streak of protest is pointless. All I need is a little more cooperation and a little less smart-ass."

"Oh _cooperation_…"Sam pretended to laugh. " I just thought you wanted me to, you know, go all Anakin Skywalker and use the dark force on everyone, but _my bad_. I must have blood in my ear or something… I guess you just wanted _cooperation._ And by the way, we really should watch Star Wars sometime, while we're on the subject of Anakin" –

_Whack!_ A fist hit him full on in the mouth, and his head bounced back to the table with a sick thud. "Do you think this is a freaking game?!" Shocked and more than a little confused, Sam rolled his tongue around in his mouth, tasting blood, and looked up to see that Jane's face was close to his in a glare. He hesitated, unsure what to do. This wasn't even close to the worst thing she had done to him, but it was still a shock all the same. The fact that Jane could even raise a finger to do something like this without one of her precious machines was almost unimaginable. He had never seen this part of her before… ever. It was like she just did a complete 180 and became her compete opposite. He had never heard or seen her shout or swear, let alone punch someone in the face. _Holy crap… Jekyll and Dr. Hyde over here…_

Sam wanted to say something, say anything, but his throat seemed to be unable to produce sound. Jane's eyes, which seemed much more capable of killing with a glare than his, were slits with anger, and he could hear her labored breathing from how close they were. So this was officially it. He was screwed. Beyond screwed. Beyond dead. There was no talking his way out of this one.

_Might as well go down swinging_, he figured, trying to unclench his teeth long enough to speak.

"…This isn't my game Jane," Sam's voice wasn't nearly as sarcastic as he wanted it, just rough. "I'm not the one making the rules."

"No… I guess it's my game, now isn't it?" Suddenly Jane smiled, stepping back from Sam with such a wild intensity in her eyes that Sam wasn't a bit comforted by her leaving his personal space. "And I'm really tired of playing, aren't you?"

Jane was backing up, towards the right-hand foot of the table, and Sam didn't even have to look to see what she was moving towards. He felt a flicker of panic immediately. The electroshock machine. He hated the electroshock machine. It was worse than the movies, Sam knew, first of all, because the movies were never consistent. There was always the fear, but not always the pain. You ran from some invisible killer, struggled against a machine, whatever. But it wasn't always complete agony… not always. And Sam _knew_ that it wasn't real, even if it seemed real. So that knowledge was always enough to know that it wouldn't last. But electroshock was consistent, and it was very real. He also knew enough about electroshock to know it could kill a person. Somehow, he didn't think Jane would mind.

Seeing Jane's hand move towards the knob, Sam was suddenly confused. Jane gave him a needle first, always. He should be flat out unable to move by now. Paralized. The needle was sitting on the table beside Jane's arm, abandoned, and she didn't seem to notice. Sam knew that paralysis medication didn't help with pain at all, just kept you from moving. So there was really no reason why he would want it, but he knew that it did keep a person from hurting themselves. The machine already did that on its own, without cracking your bones too.

Suddenly Sam was afraid, very afraid, and as he heard a sound like a car motor and a blinding white pain seared across his whole body, his muscles tightening of their own accord and going flat under the stress of the electricity within the span of a few seconds, the world went dark.

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"…And this road leads down here…"Dean traced a line on a map with his finger, trying for the zillionth time to find out where the hell Jane's database could be. They weren't in a huge town, but it was big enough to hide someone. It was small enough to be subject to search though. But the problem was, where was he supposed to start? There were hundreds of houses, stores, back roads, old cabins outside of town. Jane seemed like the real rich germaphobic type, the kind of woman who had her letters written by a scribe or something. But what if she wasn't? What if she was okay with setting up shop in some old hillbilly cabin? And what was considered "shop," anyways? Despite the hours and hours of research that went on every sleepless day for the past three days, Dean still didn't have a clue who this Jane woman was, or what she wanted with Sam. Dean was constantly worried about Sam – as he rightfully should be – but there was always this nagging feeling in the back of his head that he was missing something. How did she know all about Dean and Sam, but they had never even heard of her? How did she know where they were staying and how to kidnap Sam? What was she doing to him, and where were they?

All these questions swarmed Dean's head like angry insects, poisoning his every thought into a constant mantra of _find Sammy, find Sammy, find Sammy…_ It was like everything that ever happened to Sam; every scrapped knee, every bar fight, every broken heart, every time he went missing, just molded together into one super-paranoia trip for Dean. When Sam went missing before, he was possessed and barely made it out alive. Then after that, he fought his way through a pile of freaky psychics all night just to get murdered by one of his own "friends." Then after that, he ran away for four months with a demon to use his freaky powers. And that was _after_ he almost made a deal. What was it this time, was Sam being recruited to join the freaking mafia?!

"…Sam, where are you?" Dean ran his finger over another road, biting his lower lip with his teeth. It wasn't fair. As much as Dean hated to admit it, Sam was Dean's life. Ever since he was four, all he ever did was watch out for his little brother. Watch out for Sammy. Raise Sammy. Teach Sammy how to use a gun. Teach Sammy how to talk to girls (that one still needed some work). Teach Sammy how not to fight with dad (yet again, another failure). That was Dean's childhood. Watch. Out. For. Sammy. And in his adulthood, his pain-in-the-ass little brother had grown up to be a pain-in-the-ass little adult brother who could still trick Dean into giving up the extra cookie. There was no denying that lately Sam had been lying, sneaking around, using his freaky demon crap. And he had said some stuff too, stuff that had hurt Dean like hell (which was saying something in Dean's case). Basically, Sam had been a dick. But when it all boiled down to Sam going missing, _his_ Sam, it didn't matter. Dean still wanted Sam to have the extra cookie. He wanted to be able to pull his brother out of this one without a scratch and say "I got your back Sammy," just like he had his whole life. And this feeling of complete helplessness that Dean felt, knowing that Sam could be anywhere, having anything happen to him, was too much. Sammy could be hurting, and his big brother couldn't stop it. Dean wanted to scream.

"…Dean," Bobby's voice cut into Dean like a knife. "You should eat that."

After glancing down at a half-eaten burger, Dean looked over to his friend Bobby, the closest thing he had to a father, with a sigh. Of course, he had called Bobby with the first sign of trouble. Within three hours of Dean getting the letter, Bobby was sitting on Sam's empty bed reading it. It was a weird feeling seeing someone else take Sam's spot in the room, and Dean didn't like it. He loved Bobby to death, and appreciated his help, but he wished that Sam would be the one pestering him about his food right now.

"I'm not hungry," Dean lied, looking back to the map to avoid his lie being detected. Bobby just huffed.

"Dean if you want to find Sam, you gotta stay sharp. You _have_ to eat. You've been over that map a good dozen times already and there's nothing there. I know you're trying, but if you die of starvation and neglect, Sam isn't going to get found."

Dean squinted at the map for another second, his eyes swimming. He tried to will himself to just look at the map again, to just _see_ where his brother was. Maybe if he just thought hard enough, it would come…

Nothing. Still nothing.

"Sonova" –

Dean swore angrily, crumpling the map up and throwing it across the room. The chair was next – it was in his path, after all – and that was kicked easily out of the way at the sacrifice of stubbing his big toe. Cussing, Dean sauntered over to the other bed and plopped down with a frustrated sigh, his head in his hands.

"Dean…"

"I said I'm not freaking hungry!" Dean looked up angrily, his voice raising as loud as it would go. Instead of an angry look in return, which would have made things easier, Bobby just met him with a sad look of pity. "I…"Dean sighed again, this time weary, and drooped his shoulders as he ran a hand over his short spiky hair. " I'm sorry. It's just… You know I can't eat right now."

Bobby nodded thoughtfully, still watching Dean with that look in his eyes. He nodded. " S'okay, Dean."

"I just… I just want him _back_." Dean's voice broke on the last word, and he clenched his teeth together hard to keep from breaking down.

"I know son, I know." Bobby took off his cap, smoothing down his balding hair before replacing the hat. Suddenly to Dean he looked very old and worn out. Working with Winchesters couldn't be good on a person. "I want him back too Dean. You boys are like sons to me. Which is…"Bobby hesitated, taking a deep breath as if preparing to dive underwater. "Which is why… if this doesn't turn out the way we want" –

"Don't say that Bobby…"Dean didn't like where this was going immediately.

"I want you to remember what we're doing here. Sam wouldn't you to go rushing out and doing something hasty" –

"Stop talking about him like he's dead already." It was like Dean's mind was going into overdrive. Hadn't he been freaking out about this for three whole days? Sam could die. He could _die_, and Dean wasn't able to do anything about it. He didn't need Bobby shoving that knowledge in his face too.

"Dean… I'm serious." Bobby didn't say anything else until Dean met his eyes. "I will work as hard as I can to get your brother back, and I mean that. But I want you to promise me that if we don't get there in time" –

"_In time_?" Dean jumped on the last words, his voice raising a few pitches. "In time of _what_?"

"…If we don't get there in time…"Bobby plowed through Dean's outbursts patiently, if not sadly. " I don't want you doing anything you are going to regret later. We can't go through this again Dean, none of us. I'm old," he looked down at himself as if that said enough. "And loosing John and you boys the first time was almost the death of me. I can't see you make another deal, Dean. Someone dying is just horrible… But Sam and I can't handle seeing you do that again, Dean. And neither can you. If you'd have heard some of the conversations that Sam and I had after you died… He was near suicidal. And Dean, frankly I wasn't all there either. Now we are _going_ to find Sam, one way or another. But if this doesn't go the way we want… you had better not give up on us again."

"I…"Dean's voice was defeated, and he looked to the ground. " Bobby I…"

"Dean… _Promise_ me that you aren't going to do something _stupid_."

Dean shook his head slowly, still looking at the ground. "I promise you that I'm getting my brother back, whatever it takes and however I'm going to have to do it."

He looked up to see a tear in Bobby's eyes. "Well then I guess I can build you two a double grave…"With that final sad statement, Bobby stood up to clean up, shoving Dean's uneaten food into the garbage with a sigh. " And God willing I don't get there first…"


	5. Chapter 5

**I just want to thank you all so much for the amazing reviews! For those of you who have reviewed anonymously, I appreciate all of your comments also!**

**Now, I know you all have been waiting patiently to find out what is going on with our little villainess Jane. Well here you go! Enjoy! **

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Jane slipped off her white overcoat, replacing it with another, darker counterpart. She walked carefully, her shoes making no noise on the hard floors as she made her way through the series of hallways out of the building. Up the stairwell she went next, opening the door into a dark alley that was, as usual, uninhabited. Her long legs took her out of the alley quickly, and she walked down the street with a confident air, despite the location or time of night. Hands in her pockets, her fingers fiddled with the little device – her invention of course – that dwelt there. It was small enough to be mistaken for a cell phone, and she had shaped it thus to avoid suspicion. The hotel was only five blocks away, and she found herself strutting the back parking lot within twenty minutes of leaving. She slowed her steps down until she could see the car belonging to Dean, then continued on past the hotel until she was deep enough into the trees by the road to stay unseen. Of course, she could see the hotel door easily from here.

The device was held firmly in her hand, and from the other pocket she pulled out Sam's cell phone, which she had confiscated from him immediately after taking him. It had been easier to get Sam alone than she had planned, actually. There had been shouting and angry voices coming from the hotel room, and Sam had stormed out angrily. She tagged him all the way to an empty parking lot behind a gas station, and in his frustration he hadn't been paying close enough attention. He was too distracted to see her until she had hit him with a tazor gun, and the rest was history.

With carefully manicured fingernails, Jane typed in the phone number – she had it memorized by now – and held the phone to her face with a smirk.

The phone had barely rung twice before Dean was shouting into her ear. "Sam! Oh god Sam, where the hell are you? I thought' –

"Hell? Not quite." Jane smiled, judging from Dean's silence that he was not happy to hear from her.

There was a long silence.

"…Jane?" Dean sounded worried and rallied up, but she knew that he was talking precautions as to not make her angry. _Smart boy_.

"Yes, It's me. I've called about our agreement, Dean."

"Ag-Agreement?" Dean hesitated, confused. "In your letter you said that you would contact me, but we never made any agreement" –

"I know that you aren't in there alone," Jane smiled as she looked to the car beside the Impala, belonging to the man who had come two days ago to help Dean. "And I know that you are going around behind my back to find me Dean. Why didn't you just call?"

"I… I didn't know I could." Dean seemed confused, and seemed to be trying to skip over the fact that yes, he had been searching for Sam behind her back. Maybe he realized that there was no point denying it.

"I _do_ have Sam's phone, after all. That could hardly" –

"Where's Sam?" Dean didn't seem to be able to hold it back any longer. "I want to talk to him."

"Sorry darling, that's not an option. I'm not with him at the moment. I'm actually out for a stroll, looking to meet up with you." She hesitated, waiting for the words to sink in.

"Where?" Dean's voice was rough, all business. She hadn't heard that voice from him yet.

"Down on the corner of fifth and eighth, there is a gas station. Wait for me in the back parking lot, by the red convertible. Be there by midnight. Don't bring your car, and don't bring the cops. Don't bring your friend either."

She heard Dean grumble on the other end, but he didn't protest. She continued.

When you get there, you will see a green convertible. Set any and all weapons inside the open window, and go wait by the red van. I _will_ know if you are armed…"She smiled, knowing that of course Dean would carry a gun hidden on him anyways. He didn't know that she had senses better than he did. "When you get there," She felt the device in her pocket again. "I will reveal myself and we can _discuss_ your brother _civilly_."

"I…"Jane could practically feel Dean's brain tinkering, trying to come up with some way to outsmart her plan. " Corner of fifth and eighth?"

"At midnight," Jane replied. "And Dean… "  
There was silence on the other end, then a sigh. Jane smiled. This was just tearing Dean apart, wasn't it? _Wonderful… _She was getting two birds with one stone. Sam _and_ Dean. The prince and the popper.

"Don't be late."

Jane hung up the phone with a smirk, and slid it back in her pocket. Letting herself enjoy the satisfaction of knowing that her plan was about to work, she let her eyes turn black for the first time in a long time. This was going to be perfect. Dean had always been the one dishing it out, but now it would be her turn. And Jane knew that hurting Dean himself wouldn't do any good, but she also knew what his weakness was... Sam. And after ten years, after gaining her freedom from hell, it would be her turn to make Dean squirm. It would be her turn for revenge.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean kept the phone by his face for a second, the dial tone not piercing his suborn ears. When he finally let his arm fall back to his side, he realized that his hand was shaking. Sighing, he bounced his knee nervously in his chair and subconsciously tapped out one of Sam's stupid Bon Jovi songs. This was getting so confusing… How was Jane doing this? How could one person be outsmarting three of the best hunters alive? There was no need to be humble, because Dean knew it was true. He and Sam had been taught by the best hunter that ever lived, and as his sons they carried the Winchester gene that made them his counterparts. Bobby also, knew everything and could do anything that they needed. The three of them were normally unstoppable… But not now.

Because they were missing Sam. Sam was the optimistic, smart-ass, research-crazy little brother who kept Dean's temper in check. Dean was always there for Sam without being asked, because he knew that Sam would be there for Dean whenever and wherever needed. They were partners in crime. So why did everyone have to try so hard to split them up?

"Dean?" Across the room, Bobby looked up from Sam's laptop with an anxious look. "That was Jane?"

"Uh, yeah." Dean ran a hand over his face to wake himself up, and took a sip of the coffee he had forgotten about long ago. "That was her…. She wants me to meet her on the corner of on the fifth and eighth at midnight."

Bobby set the computer aside and jumped up immediately. "Alright then, let's get ready. Better to go in hot if" –

"You can't come, Bobby," Dean interrupted quietly. He looked up from his coffee cup with a raised eyebrow. "I've got to do this alone."

Caught off guard, Bobby shook his head with a sigh. "Damnit Dean, don't you dare start up with that martyr one-man-war thing again. I've seen enough of that from you Winchesters to last a lifetime, thank you very much. I'm not about to go and let you wander out there alone!"

"But Bobby" –

"No Dean. That's that."

"I'd love to let you come Bobby, but I can't. Jane says I have to go alone."

With a knowing look, Bobby took the time to sit down on the bed across from Dean, resting his knees on his elbows so that the young man would have to look up into his face. "Dean… since when do you do what the bad guys tell you? If it weren't for the risk of things, I'd be telling you the same thing right now."

Dean's jaw set, and he leaned back in his chair – and away from Bobby's watchful stare – to pull back the curtains from the windows long enough to look outside. It was an easy motion, one that could easily be justified as a hunter trying to keep his eyes open for possible signs, but in this case Dean was just trying to get away from the question at hand that he didn't want to answer. That he didn't want to consider. Dean thought about not even answering at all, but eventually he made his lips move enough to state "Since now."

As much as Bobby cared for them, Dean knew that those two words might not be enough for the older hunter to understand. Yes, Dean always shot first and asked questions later. Yes, Dean broke every rule that he could just because he wanted too. Yes, Dean hated bending to Jane's will. All that was true, and Bobby was well aware of that. But things were different now, because if there was even a chance that his baby brother could get hurt Dean would do what he could to stop it. Dean had been through enough, and had put his brother through enough, to know that his pride wasn't worth a person's well being. Especially when that person's name started with an _S_ and ended with an _ammy_. No… Dean would cooperate for now. He would play by Jane's rules… for now. Not until he knew how to stop her.

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At eleven-thirty Dean slid his arms into his favorite leather jacket slowly, hating how venerable he felt as he removed his ivory-handled .45 pistol from his pocket. He glanced at it a moment, setting it on the table with a somber formality that was only appropriate for funeral processions. But to Dean… this felt like a funeral. His funeral. Sam's funeral. The end of something, at least. Hopefully that was only a bad notion and not a reality.

"Dean…"Bobby handed Dean his phone with a serious expression. " I programmed myself into speed dial, just in case."

"Thanks Bobby… " Dean shoved it in the inside pocket of his jacket, and opened the door with a sigh. " Well here goes nothing," Dean raised his voice in an attempt at a joke but it came out dry, making him feel even more worried. God, couldn't he even get a half decent joke out anymore?

"And just so you know," Bobby's voice caught Dean's attention before he closed the door. "If it comes down to a ransom or something…"

His interest peaked, Dean turned to give the man a glance. "Yeah?"

"You know I can scrounge up whatever you need. We can make this happen however it has too... I want Sam back as badly as you do."

Dean gave Bobby a half-smile and a mumble of "Thanks Bobby" before he shut the door, humoring the man. He knew that Bobby loved them like sons, and that he _would_ go to the ends of the earth and back to get whatever Jane might want in exchange for Sam. But no, he didn't want Sam back as badly as Dean did. Not nearly, because Dean knew that after all this time he was still so willing to walk into a trap, crossroads or pit in hell for his brother. And that knowledge scared him more than anything.

Walking down the street at a brisk pace, Dean followed the street signs until he found fifth street, and then walked south until he found the corner of eighth. The street was cold and dark, with nothing but a few street lights to guide his way. There was a little gas station on the lot, just like Jane had said. Although Dean should have expected as much, he was frustrated to see that it was dark and boarded up. So there would be no one around to ensure that they play it nice. But then again… maybe Dean should be thankful that this Jane, whoever or whatever she was, didn't have anyone else that she could endanger.

Dean made his way to the back of the building, walking to the green convertible and shoving an empty gun in the open window. He had brought it along for this purpose of course, so that Jane could see him doing this and know that he was unarmed. Dean felt stupid leaving his gun behind… but what if Jane got to the car? It was better this way anyways that she couldn't get to his weapons. Maybe now he stood a chance…

Just like Jane's instructions said, Dean went and stood between the red convertible and the red van. _Maybe she like's red…_ Dean smirked to himself, trying to cover his insecurities with jokes. But just like all the others he had tried since Sam had been taken, his smile slowly faded as the dark thoughts creeped in again. _Red…_ _red like blood. Is she trying to imply something?_

"Well Dean, what a pleasant surprise seeing you here… " What would have normally been considered a kind female voice made Dean jump, and he turned around to see a woman leaning against the back of the van. She wasn't a big woman, no taller than 5'6 with a slim silhouette, a deep brunette ponytail and glasses, and a dark trench-coat style jacket adorned her frame in a way that made her look a bit like a wan bee scientist. If she hadn't been Dean's enemy at the moment, he would have more willingly admitted that she was a very attractive woman. Noticing Dean's eyes on her – although probably not in the way that she might have liked – Jane raised her eyes knowingly.

"Did you leave the weapons in the car?"

"Of course…"

"Good man." She took a couple of steps towards him, until they were only a few feet apart. " You look good Dean… I didn't remember you being _this_ good looking."

"I get my beauty sleep…"

"But then again, after seeing your brother… " Jane continued as if Dean had never spoken, and a smirk adorned her features. " I can tell it runs in the family. I did expect you to be _taller_ though after seeing Sam. You must tell me what you feed that boy…"

Dean huffed quietly to himself. He was starting to see that wordplay was something this woman specialized in. "He gets his veggies," Dean muttered in response. _You still didn't say_how_ you know me…_ "Do we know each other?"

Jane smiled, seeming to catch on to the fact that Dean wasn't interested in simple banter. "Oh… We were stuck in the same room once for a long period of time. You know how that goes… "

"Do I?" Dean didn't let his smile falter, although he was more confused than ever. What was _that_ supposed to mean? That they hooked up once? His record wasn't exactly squeaky clean, but you think he would have recognized her by now if they had….

"So let's get down to business," Jane looked up at Dean expectantly, as if it had been _him_ making the pointless conversation. "We need to talk. I need" –

"Where's Sam?" Dean couldn't hold it back any longer, and jumped on the question as if it was his dying breath. "How is he? Did you hurt him?"

Jane hesitated. "Meaning _what_, exactly?"

"I…"Dean was caught off guard. _What do you _think_ it means? I'm not speaking French here, woman!_ "Did you _hurt_ him?"

By the look on Jane's face, you would think that Dean had just asked her something as trivial as why the chicken crossed the road. "Dean… out of the two of us here, _you_ have done a lot more harm to little Sammy than _I _ever could. But if it makes you feel any better… There isn't a hair out of place on his pretty little head. Sam's physique is just as gorgeous as it was when I found him."

Dean sighed, both relieved that Sam was safe and angry with Jane for her stupid wordplay. _Strike one._ "If I were you I would keep your opinions on my brother's 'physique' to yourself. And I'd keep it that way, because if you hurt him then _your_ 'physique' will be bleeding on the pavement by the time I'm done with you. Do you understand me?"

"I wouldn't expect any other reaction from you," Jane's smile widened, and Dean had to fight the urge not to throttle her. " But I promise you Dean…"She took another step towards Dean. " By the end of this, _I _wont be the one hurting Sam. _You _will."

Dean shook his head angrily, his voice husky. "You're wrong. I'd never hurt Sam. _Ever_."

"You'd be surprised."

"No… I wouldn't be. I don't care what you do, you can't make me."

"Oh?" Jane pouted her lips as if making fun of a small child. "Dean… isn't it a bit late for that?"

_Strike two._ Dean's jaw tightened at the unexpected use of knowledge from Dean's past in hell, and the oh-too familiar sense of guilt, shame and hate washed over him. "That was then… This is now."

"Of course, Sam must have diplomatic immunity to the wrath of Dean Winchester." Through all this time, Jane's smile never faltered. She was really enjoying herself, wasn't she? "But we will see, now wont we?"

Was that a threat to Sam? _Strike three._ "I guess so…"Dean crossed his arms in front of his chest, sliding his arm into the inside of his jacket until it came in contact with the holy water. He had a suspicion…

Suddenly he was flying backwards, his arms outstretched to try and catch himself in the thin air. He came in contact with something – probably one of the vehicles – and he was winded against the hard surface. He fell down to the ground, but when he went to pull away he found that his back and arms were stuck. There was an invisible force holding him in place. _Damnit… _He looked up to see Jane standing above him with an outstretched hand. _I was right…_

"Tsk, tsk." Jane clicked her tongue against the back of her teeth, taking her time to kneel down in front of him with black eyes. She opened the fold in his jacket, pulling out the flask with a sigh only to throw it behind her. "Dean… holy water? I thought you knew better than that."

"I guess not…"Dean wasn't as surprised as he should have been by the whole ordeal, and he raised his chin in defiance. " What now, do I get a detention?"

"Oh not you. Sam will pay for this little episode though…"

Dean felt the anger rise. "You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I?"

Jane's hand went back to Dean's chest, and for a second he feared the worst. But with a smile, she slid her hand around the back of his neck until she found the chain there. She gave it a jerk, and Dean's amulet came off with it. She pressed it to Dean's forehead, and it came back bloody. He didn't even know he had been bleeding…

"What are you _doing_?"

"Nothing… Just taking letting Sam know that big brother is watching, or whatever. Wouldn't want him to worry about you, now would I." She swung it around by the string for a second, flaunting her new prize before she shoved it in a little plastic bag. But right now Dean was too angry to realize how weird that was, because he understood what she was doing. That amulet was a symbol for Dean's relationship with his brother. He had gotten it for Christmas from Sam years ago, and he never took it off. And Sam knew this. So by taking it back to Sam, bloody and forlorn, that was not only symbolically breaking the tie, but it would make Sam think that Dean was seriously injured.

"He's… He's not going to fall for that," Dean muttered, suddenly feeling very tired. Wow… that blow had really winded him… "He's not going to worry about me."

"Maybe your right. Maybe he should worry about _himself_…"Jane stood up, pausing to brush the dirt off her knees. "But if you'd like, I can pass on that message."

"Dammit, why are you doing this?" Dean looked up angrily, and a little desperately. She was going to hurt Sam. She was going after Sammy! "What the hell do you want?!"

Jane didn't answer for a minute, but continued to brush off her clothes until they were spotless. When she was done, she looked up at Dean with her head tilted to the side a little bit. "Dean… did you know that while we all end up the same, every soul in hell is different?"

"I…"W_hat_?!

Jane seemed overjoyed by Dean's confusion, and she smiled as she continued. "Well Dean, in the pit people find out what they are made of. Some break in a day, some in a decade, some in a century" –

"What are you getting at?" Dean interrupted her, confused. Was there a point to this madness, or was she just trying to hurt him?

"It takes different times for people to _break_," she said the word as if it was a bad taste in her mouth. "But afterwards, the time it takes to become a demon is also very different."

Dean still didn't understand. What was she getting at?

"For example," Jane frowned down at him as if she was giving him a lecture on physics. She was even pacing a little bit. "That little… _friend_ of Sam's… Ruby? I heard quite a few stories about her. Apparently, it didn't take long for her to break. Not long at all. Only fifteen years, apparently. That's embarrassing I guess. Wouldn't you say? But then again, afterwards… you know how long it took for her to turn into a demon? Almost a century."  
Dean didn't answer. Fifteen wasn't that far off of thirty. And besides, hearing this about Ruby was almost a blow. He hated her guts. He didn't want any reason to pity her, but it was hard not to wonder now…

"And then _Dean Winchester_ came along… And after what happened with papa bear, everyone thought that he would be the unbreakable seal…"Jane turned to look at Dean, who had finally looked back at her with fury in his eyes. She knew that she had gone beyond strike four. Jane had done the unthinkable: she had brought John into the big picture. "But the story goes that daddy's little soldier wasn't all he was made up to be. The little train that could just _couldn't_ anymore. They thought it would take years and years to make him turn, but in almost ten he was a master at torture…"

"Why are you saying this to me?" Dean's voice was a lot rougher than he would have liked, because it was taking so much effort to keep his game face on.

"Just pointing out some facts…"Jane knelt down in front of Dean again, resting on the balls of her feet. " If you had been in hell for even fifty more years… you would have been a demon. That's plain and simple. So don't go thinking that you are better than me… because you aren't. Why do you think your little angel friends swooped in so fast to save you after you broke that seal? The only reason that they gave you the time of day was because if you had become a demon you wouldn't have been able to help them fix their little dilemma. You wouldn't have _wanted_ too. And you still don't want to. Funny how things like that turn out isn't it?"

"That's not…"Dean clenched his teeth together, willing himself not to break in front of this demon. " That's not true. I'm nothing like you people. I'm _nothing_ like you."  
Jane shook her head at Dean like he was stupid. "I'm disappointed Dean… If you only knew the truth. Honestly, I thought you would have figured out who I was by now. You are just like me."

Dean waited, but Jane didn't tell him. He so did not want to ask, but he hated to admit that she had his curiosity. That was the question from the beginning, wasn't it? Who _was _she? How was Dean supposed to know her? There had been no demons named Jane in hell. There had been no sickly, germaphobic, bitchy demons named _Jane_ in hell!

"No answer, Dean?" Jane raised an eyebrow. "Don't you like twenty questions? I always thought that you would know me right away… You see, I was so exited when I got to come to the surface. _So _exited when I heard that I got to meet you again."

"We've never _met_!" Dean interjected angrily. "I don't _know_ you!"

"But of course you do Dean… " Jane leaned forwards until they were almost nose to nose. " I'm you."

Dean hesitated, but no answer came. He still didn't understand. "That… that doesn't make any sense."

"Well I guess I can never be _you_, exactly." Jane shrugged, leaning back again like a moody child. "But we have almost the exact same story. See, I died once. And I went to the pit. It was dark, and cold, and terrifying. And there was this man there…"Jane smiled. You would think she was telling a fairy tale, instead of her own destruction, by the look on her face. She seemed so cold, as if she didn't even care what had happened to her back then. "This man wasn't very nice, not at all. And let's just say we spent a lot of private sessions together. Sound familiar yet?"

Of course it did. That was the same as Dean. It was the same as _everyone_ in hell!

"And at the end of each day…"Jane continued on without interruption, seeming to enjoy the recognition on Dean's face. " He would make me this offer. Do you know what it was?"

Of course. Of course he knew what it was! Why was she doing this to him? Dean didn't need to re-live this.

"Well… eventually it worked." Jane shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal. "And you know the rest. But you know what the cherry on the top of the cake was?"

_Oh god, oh god, oh god. _ Dean didn't want to hear what it was. Dean didn't want to hear any more at all. He wished that she would just _stop talking_!

"It was the _very first thing_ he said to me." Jane laughed. "At first, I thought he was going to help me. I called out to him, asking, begging for help. 'Get me out of here', I said. But then he turned to me, this big smile on his face. And he got real close… to whisper in my ear. And do you know what he said?"

By now, Jane had already leaned in like she was going to whisper in Dean's ear. He had flinched away from the contact, but he was tense. Why did this all seem so damned familiar?! He swore he didn't recognize this…. He didn't know what she was going to say. But why did he feel like this was familiar somehow?

"He said…"Jane leaned in a bit more, until her mouth was almost touching Dean's ear. "Say your prayers, bitch. This is going to be a long ride."

If it had been possible that Dean could have had a heart attack, then and there, he wouldn't have been surprised. His heart felt like it had dropped a hundred feet back into hell, and that someone was using it for target practice. For a few seconds, he couldn't breathe. _No… _Suddenly, it all made sense. He recognized those words. He recognized them too much. He remembered the man who had whispered them into the ears of his victims at the start of every day, remembered the terror in their eyes as that man had picked up a knife. He remembered… Because that man hadn't been Alistair.

It had been _Dean_.


	7. Chapter 7

**I just wanted to say, that I adore all of you guys who read and review to my stories! Honestly, the reviews are like bread and butter to me… They just keep me going!**

**The response to the last chapter was phenomenal! I'm so happy that you guys liked it! I'm sorry to keep you waiting, but health problems came about… I wont bore you with the details, because now I am back and in rotation!**

**Time to find out what mess the Winchester brothers have gotten themselves into now!**

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_If it had been possible that Dean could have had a heart attack, then and there, he wouldn't have been surprised. His heart felt like it had dropped a hundred feet back into hell, and that someone was using it for target practice. For a few seconds, he couldn't breathe.__No…__Suddenly, it all made sense. He recognized those words. He recognized them too much. He remembered the man who had whispered them into the ears of his victims at the start of every day, remembered the terror in their eyes as that man had picked up a knife. He remembered… Because that man hadn't been Alistair._

_It had been__Dean._

"No… You're not… I wasn't… " Dean's tongue felt like it was made out of lead. No… This couldn't be happening! Jane could _not_ be who she said she was! "You cant be…"

"What, Dean?" Jane tilted her head to the side, watching Dean with morbid fascination. "Cat got your tongue? Does the great _Dean Winchester_ have nothing to say?"

"I don't… " Dean shook his head, trying to stand up against the invisible force pinning his back to the truck. " That's not true. Y-You _can't_ be a demon if" –

"If what? If _you_ aren't a demon? Didn't you listen to my little speech before?"

"No! No, you're lying!"

"You were in hell for less time than I was, Dean. You were pulled from hell over half a year ago now… Long before I got out. Funny how the time goes when your having fun, isn't it?" Jane paused before continuing. "But it doesn't end there Dean. You want to know what else?"

_NoNoNoNoNoNo…OhGodOhGodOhGod…NoNo… _The voice in Dean's head played over and over like a mantra. This couldn't be happening. This could _not_ be happening! And she wasn't finished? What else could she possibly say that was worse than this?!  
"Dean… I asked you a question." Jane stuck her hand under Dean's chin, tilting it up until he was forced to look into her cold dead eyes. "You know what else?"

Dean couldn't answer. He didn't want to answer. He didn't want to _know_!

"Well the thing is Dean… I'm still a little upset that you don't remember me _personally_. I know you met a lot of people… but I was kind of special, you see. You want to know why?" This time Jane didn't wait for an answer, but simply leaned back on her heals in boredom before standing up to look down on Dean. "You know that seal you broke… The first time you became like us? The first person you were set loose on? That was me."

Maybe there was something below rock bottom. If there was, Dean hit it. Hard. He didn't think it would be _possible_ to be more surprised and shocked than he was at that moment. _Now_ he remembered her… too well. Dean remembered that poor little terrified redhead who just wanted to go home… And that – at the time – he hadn't cared. She had been the girl who he had used to beak the seal? The first person he had tortured? It had been _her_?

"Oh god… " Dean couldn't stop shaking his head, trying to convince himself that this was all just a dream. " No… No, Oh god, I am _so_ sorry. I'm so" –

_Bam!_ A foot was aimed at Dean's jaw so fast that there was barely any time to flinch, although it wouldn't have done any good. He stat there for a minute, stunned, as his eyes filled up with tears.

"Don't you _dare_ say that Dean, don't you dare!" Dean finally looked up to see that Jane's eyes were black again. "It's a decade late for apologies. I made my peace with that life a _long_ time ago." Jane took a few steps back, crossing her arms in front of her chest with a bit of a smile. "Although I have to admit that this little _role reversal _of ours… It's a lot more enjoyable than I would have expected. I never thought it would be so easy to get you like _this_..."

"What… " Dean moaned, the movements in his jaw sending flares of pain into his skull. " Do you want with me?"

"What I want is justice, Dean." Jane nodded softly, almost to herself. "And I intend to get it. But more importantly, I want to put things in their natural order. You see… as much as I'd love to stay her and carve myself up a little steak a la Dean Winchester… I've got more important things to do." She let a creepy little smile grace her features. "You know… places to go, people to see. That kind of thing."

"I don't… " Dean's words were slurred from his injured jawbone, but Jane seemed to hear them nevertheless. " I don't understand… You're just going to leave me here? You don't want revenge?"

It didn't make any sense… If Dean tortured Jane in hell, than didn't she want revenge? Wasn't this her point for coming here in the first place? To kidnap Sam and use him to lure Dean in? It seemed like such a good plan… It always worked for the bad guys. Sam and Dean would never leave each other behind and everyone knew that. Jane wouldn't be any different.

"Oh…"Jane frowned, surprised. She must have read Dean's thoughts. "You thought I was that stupid, did you?"

Dean hesitated, but then decided last minute that he was going to put his game face on and hope that no one was the wiser. "Actually, yeah. I did." He smiled, although it was a bad attempt and it made the pain in his jaw flare up a notch. "I mean… How obvious would it be that you would want a trade? Sam for me?"

"Well that _would_ be one way to do it… " Jane was up pacing again, and Dean found her movements unsettling. " It would be easier, for one. But since I was granted my freedom, I dug a little into your past Dean. And I found out some pretty interesting information. I was quite… surprised… to find out that you actually _had_ a family. They are what got you into this mess, now aren't they? First mommy dies bloody on the ceiling, than daddy goes to hell" –

"Shut up!" Dean ground out the words from between his teeth, but Jane wasn't listening.

"Than little Dean goes to hell in exchange for Sammy's life…"

"I said, shut up!"

Jane stopped pacing to look at Dean for a minute. "I know that you went to hell for Sam, and that you would willingly come with me to grant his safety. I know that you would let me get revenge on you if I let Sam go. Yes Dean, I could go _that_ route. It wouldn't be unenjoyable, either… " She grinned. " But you're a little too worn out for me. Broken in, like your precious leather jacket and your vintage car. How can I break a broken man?"

Ouch… if the blows got any lower, they wouldn't even be hitting Dean anymore. He closed his eyes for a moment as she continued.

"What I need is something new and shiny to play with. I don't have thirty more years to waste on _you_… " With a little shrug, Jane raised an eyebrow menacingly. " What I _do_ have though _is _new and shiny. And he's way more important to you than your jacket or your car…"

Dean's eyes widened like saucers, and the breath seemed to drain from his lungs. _Sam! _"You… You wouldn't…"

"I wouldn't… what?" Jane looked at Dean as if she didn't know what he was talking about. "Make someone innocent suffer? Be like _you_?"

"But I – I never – I didn't – I'm sorry. Look I'll just…"Dean faded away, knowing that he wasn't making any sense. "Please… don't do this."

"If Alistair apologized to you Dean, what would you tell him? Would you forgive him for what he put you through?"  
Dean couldn't even reply. He knew that the answer would be no. Never. So how could things be any different for him?

Jane smiled, reading his face. "I didn't think so."

"Don't…"Dean tried to put on some form of puppy-dog eyes. " Don't do this… _Please_. I promise I'll go with you, I swear. I wont put up a fight. Just don't hurt Sammy. He's not a part of this."

"That's where you're wrong Dean. He _is_ a part of this. I already said that this wasn't about you. This is about making things right."

"And how will hurting Sam will do that?!"

"If you haven't noticed, your brother is quite special." Jane tilted her head to the side, observing Dean like a bug caught in a trap. "Not special in the same way that you have proven yourself to be, but special all the same. And the way he has been using his powers as of late is not only a serious pain in my ass… but it's a waste. Your brother was made for so much more than exorcising demons."

Dean shook his head, pulling against the force of his hold on the van. "No he's not, Jane. Your wrong! Whatever the hell it is you want him to do, he wont do it! He _can't_ do it!"

Jane watched him struggle with a sideways smirk. "Don't be so sure Dean… Neither of us are one's to talk, are we? You were created for this purpose. You created me for this purpose. Come on… Sam isn't even in hell. What's the worst that could happen?"

The puppy-dog eyes had faded long ago. If looks could kill, Dean would have had Jane dead and gone by now. "You… You evil, twisted little" –

"Oops." Jane frowned, her eyes crinkling in the corners with humor. "Don't say that word Dean. You know how it sets me off."

"I…"Dean was cut short, once again reminded of their bloody past. He sat there dumbstruck for a minute, and Jane turned around to walk away. "Wait!" He shouted after her, but she just kept walking. "Don't… Jane_, don't!_"

"Goodbye Dean…"Jane raised a hand to wave at Dean without even looking back at him. "I wish you the best of happiness, and all that."

Jane's form disappeared into the shadows of the woods, and after a few seconds the hold keeping Dean pressed against the van lifted. His body slouched backwards, a moan escaping his lips as his back gave him a pang of protest. He stood up as quickly as he could, hurrying towards the woods, ready to hunt Jane down if that was what it took. But of course, there was no one there to find.

He paced the woods and the parking lot for another ten minutes, but eventually had to face the fact that he had let Jane get away. He had failed. And with that realization, he knelt down on the pavement and cried. He cried because no matter what he did he would not be able to erase what he had done to Jane and countless others like her. And because this monster that he had created out of his own self-pity, this monster that he had set loose on the world, was about to do to Sam what he had done to her.


	8. Chapter 8

Sorry I haven't written in a while guys, I kind of had some health/school/family problems. But now that I'm back in the game, I can write again! :D

I hope you didn't miss me TOO much while I was gone!

Now let's see what trouble Sam has gotten himself into now!

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When Sam heard the sound of doors closing, he gave his bonds and extra tug. _No, not yet. Not yet…_ He had been pulling at his cuffs for a few hours now, trying to find some way that he could get out of them. He had pulled, squirmed, smashed and tugged at them until his wrists and ankles were raw, but nothing worked. Hell, Sam had even stared at them for over thirty minutes just trying to will himself into breaking them with his mind. But it seemed that the only power that could be of any use to him right now was the only one he couldn't teach himself.

The sound of boots on stairs clinked into Sam's ears, and he felt panic start to creep back into his system. _Oh god, not again…_ _Please no…_

"Well hello there Sam," Jane opened the door with that evil-soccer-mom look of hers, and threw her jacket out of Sam's range of vision. He didn't hear it hit the floor, so it probably landed on the table behind his head. "Did you miss me? I hope you didn't get too bored while I was away."

Sam took a deep breath through his nose, trying to look as calm as possible. All the same, he felt his body tense up as she walked past him, physically preparing for whatever was coming next. She had just gotten back from being outside, which probably meant that she had been out on a movie run. What was it this time? Sam tried to wrack his brains for any ideas, but pretty much every horror, slash, or gory movie he could think of he had already lived multiple times. Maybe she was bringing out the old black-and-white horror movies now?

"I brought you a treat," Jane had her back to him as she often did, but he could tell by the tone of her voice that she was smiling. As usual. He hated that smile more than anything in the whole world…

"What?" Sam forced a smirk on his face and tried to calm down the tremors that were already starting to make him shake in fear, "Pay-Per-View?"

He could hear Jane laughing behind him, and when she circled into his line of vision she was shaking her head. "I thought that was Dean's habit?"

"And I thought you were never going to show your ugly face again…"Sam raised his eyebrows angrily. " Looks like we were both wrong" –

"Speaking of your brother…"Jane raised her voice a little bit, overpowering Sam's. " I just got back from seeing him."

Sam's mind came to a standstill. Dean! She had talked to Dean! He tried to keep his face calm. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh nothing." Jane shrugged, although her motions were _too_ nonchalant. She was obviously trying to irritate him. "But he left you a present." She held out her hand, and it held a little clear sandwich bag. Inside was something small and golden with a bunch of black thread around it. It was stained with blood. He looked closer…

Son of a…

That was Dean's amulet!

Sam looked up into Jane's eyes, half with fear, half with hatred. "What the hell did you do to him?"

"Oh nothing that's going to hurt in the morning…"Jane chuckled sickly to herself, looking at the blood inside the bag as if it was a consolation prize. " But the thing is Sammy… I kind of have a confession to make. There isn't going to _be_ a morning for Dean. I kind of got a little…."She giggled, poking the bag with her index finger. "Carried away."

Sam's world came crashing down. For a second, he thought his heart had stopped. "You didn't…"He looked into her eyes, trying to find some lie there, trying to find some hint that she was just jesting him. " You didn't… _kill_ Dean, did you?"

Jane finally moved her eyes to his, and when she saw the look on his face she shrugged. "Well don't get too upset Sammy, he is in a better place after all." With that little comment she smiled to herself, her eyes lighting up with glee. "Oh sorry… I guess not. This is Dean Winchester we are talking about after all. But if it makes you feel any better I'm sure he got a _warm_ welcome home, if you catch my drift."

Suddenly Sam was thrashing around, pulling at his restrains, trying to get to any part of Jane that he could. "When I get out of here, I swear I'm going to tear you apart, you twisted little" –

"Shh…"Jane put a hand over his mouth, her fingers surprisingly strong. " Shh… It's okay Sam." She pushed down on his face until he stopped moving. "Don't be worried. I would never separate you from your brother."

Sam looked up at her through her fingers on his face, confused. _Does that mean he's alive? Is this some damn form of sick joke?_

Jane lifted her other hand, and Sam could see a needle in it. Suddenly everything made sense. Jane was going to kill him too.

He pulled at the bonds, but of course they didn't move. Jane laughed. "It's alright Sam." she stuck the needle into Sam's arm with a smile. "If you've been a good boy, you should have nothing to worry about. What with those velvety-smooth puppy-dog eyes of yours, everyone will just want to _eat you up_." She said those last words with menace, laughing.

Sam pulled harder, trying to break the needle in his arm just so that it wouldn't work. Her words were making perfect sense, even without having to define anything she was saying. If he wasn't going to be separated from Dean, and if Dean was in hell… that meant Sam was going there too. "Wait… Don't…"He winced as she pushed her thumb along the vial, making the toxin enter his skin. Almost immediately, he could feel it enter his system. The second that the needle was out he started thrashing again, trying desperately to get free.

"The more you move around like a fish, Sam, the faster you will end up on the fryer." Jane chuckled at her own little joke, pulling her hand away from Sam's face. "It will just go through your system faster that way."

Sam could already feel himself getting weaker, and his head went limp on the table.

"It's okay Sam…"Jane patted his cheek with a smirk, and he couldn't even find the strength to pull away. " From what I hear, Winchesters get a good reception in hell."


	9. Chapter 9

It was two o'clock in the morning when a soft knocking on the door alerted Bobby to Dean's return. He had been pacing back and forth across the tiny hotel room, waiting nervously for Dean to get back, anxious that it had taken so long. Releasing a sigh of relief, Bobby rushed to the door, his nervous fingers slipping on the locks as he fidgeted with them. A few seconds later, he opened the door to a sorry sight.

"Holy…"Bobby's mouth hung open slightly, his hand frozen on the doorknob at the sight of his surrogate-son. Dean's clothes were dirty, his usually spiky hair in a disarray. There was a dark and nasty looking bruise along his jawbone, and dark circles under his puffy and red eyes.

"You gonna let me in, Bobby?" What would have usually come across from Dean as a smart-ass comment was merely a tired statement. Paired with a hoarse voice and the low volume at which he had said it, Bobby barely recognized Dean's voice at all.

"Yeah… Come on in, boy." Bobby hurriedly stepped aside to let Dean in, closing the door firmly behind him. He bolted the locks quickly, turning to look at Dean with concern. "Dean, what happened to you!?"

Dean hadn't moved since he had been ushered into the room. He just stood there looking lost, as if he didn't know what to do next. After a minute, he raised his eyes to Bobby as if seeing him for the first time. "…what?"

Suddenly seeing the shocked dead look on Dean's face, Bobby took a few slow steps towards the boy, putting his hands gently on both shoulders. "Dean?" He looked over his glasses, waiting for Dean to raise his eyes. "Dean, look at me." Finally, Dean seemed to notice Bobby's touch and reacted by looking up. He looked really pale. "What happened, Dean?"

"She…"Dean licked his lips, looking like he was having a hard time getting the words out. " She's…"He hesitated, is eyes looking at something invisible over Bobby's shoulder, looking like he was gonna –

Suddenly Dean had ripped himself from Bobby's grasp, rushing to the bathroom. Bobby took a few cautious steps foreword as he heard the sound of Dean spilling his guts out in the other room. He leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms against his chest until the poor boy was finished throwing up. When Dean stopped, his fingers curling around the edge of the toilet bowl and his shoulders shaking, Bobby moved into the room towards the sink. He grabbed a glass from beside the tap, filling it halfway with lukewarm water, and knelt down close enough beside Dean that he could reach it but still had some air. "You done?"

Dean turned his head to acknowledge Bobby, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He nodded slowly, holding out his hand for the glass. Bobby set in into his trembling fingers, sighing deeply as Dean gulped it all down at once. The glass was left on the floor, and Bobby set it back on the counter. He patted Dean on the back gently, rubbing circles over that stupid leather jacket that Dean still hadn't taken off. Then he slid a hand into the neckline and nudged Dean gently with his elbow. "Common, let's get this off you."

Dean nodded again slowly, letting his shoulders slump back so Bobby could just pull it off him. His arms slid from the sleeves without any effort at all. Bobby turned to throw the jacket on the bed in the other room.

Bobby listened to Dean take a deep breath, than another, than another. After four or five did he finally believe that it was alright to let the kid stand up again. He offered Dean a hand, helping him to his shaky feet. Dean leaned against the sink, splashing water on his face and washing his hands, and Bobby leaned against the far wall beside him. "So Dean… you going to tell me what happened? What did Jane do?"

Only after patting his face down with the towel enough times to get on Bobby's nerves did Dean finally turn to meet his gaze. His eyes were still red and puffy, but he looked like he could stand on his own two feet again. He just looked horrified. "It's not what Jane did…"Dean cleared his throat, acting as if he had lost his voice for a very long time and had forgotten what it had sounded like. "…It's what _I _did. It's what Jane's _going_ to do."

Bobby followed Dean as he walked numbly into the other room, feeling more confused than ever. "And just what is that?" Bobby raised his eyebrows in dismay. "What did you do? What the hell are you _talking _about?"

"That's exactly it! Hell!" Suddenly Dean was in Bobby's face, practically grabbing on to his jacket. "You know what I did. Don't you _get _it? She's back!"

Bobby took a careful step back and pulled Dean's hands from the folds of his clothes, trying to process that information. Yes, he knew what Dean did in hell. Dean had told Bobby one day, depressed and a little too tipsy for comfort. But Bobby had told him that it didn't matter – cause it didn't, of course – because Dean was still the same kid to him that he always was. But another thought came to mind. "Who's back, son?"

"I…"Dean frowned, looking just a little bit insane. " One of the people that I… you know…"He obviously didn't want to say it, and Bobby sure as hell wasn't going to make him. Dean sighed. "And she was the first one, too. The one that broke the seal."

Now that rose Bobby's eyebrows, if nothing he had heard so far wasn't shocking enough. "That was Jane? Are you sure?"

"Yeah…"Dean ran a hand over his spiky hair, pacing a little bit. "I had no clue who she was, but she explained and then I just somehow remembered her. And I can't really explain how, but it kind of fits. She's not the same but… she kind of is. She's just darker now. If that makes any sense…"

Bobby sighed. "It doesn't have to, son. I'll take your word for it."

"Thanks Bobby," Dean nodded gratefully, looking so physically tired that Bobby was almost afraid that he would tumble over any second now. "I didn't really know what… What you would say and all… Considering."

Bobby thought about that for a sec, and rested a hand carefully on Dean's shoulder while he thought about his response. "Dean…"He looked directly into the young man's eyes, hoping that the Winchester gene wouldn't kick in and force Dean to look away out of pride. " I've known you for a long time. I've seen you in diapers, for Pete's sakes! And through all of that I _know_ what you're like. And my opinions of you haven't changed, okay? You don't ever have to worry about me judging you for that."

"I…"Dean seemed kind of shocked, probably not expecting such a foreword answer. " Thanks, Bobby."

Well if that's all he was going to get, then he was going to take it as it was. "So Dean… you were telling me about Jane." He gestured to Dean's scratched up face implicatively.

If possible, Dean seemed to have paled even more. He nodded slowly, his Adam's apple bobbing with the force of his swallow. "Yea well… She said that… She said…"Dean sighed, his hands clenched into tight fists. "She said that she was going to get her revenge. And that she's using Sam to do it. Bobby, if she's hurt him I don't know what I'd do. I can't. I can't let her do that" –

"Alright Dean," Bobby cut in before Dean had a breakdown, because that's where it seemed he was headed. And if what he was saying was true, Bobby didn't feel far off it either. But he had to be the strong one right now. "We're going to find him, alright. We just have to keep looking. Now think, you met her in town, right? And she called you earlier today, right? She couldn't have driven that far in such a short time, so that means that she is probably _still_ in town when she made the call. Heck, she's probably _always_ been in town. We just have to check everywhere we haven't checked yet."

Stubbornly, Dean started shaking his head. "But Bobby… what if we don't get there in time? What if we can't find him? What if" –

Bobby grabbed Dean by the shoulders, shaking him a few times. "No Dean. No 'what-ifs', okay? We _are_ going to find Sam, and he _is _going to be okay. Now first things first, you go have a shower and then we are going to patch you up. I'm going on Sam's laptop right now, and I'm going to keep searching. Alright?"

"But" –

Bobby silenced Dean by pulling him along, turning him around so he could pretty much wrestle him through the door. Even though he could never win a fight against the Winchester now – he wasn't young anymore, after all – Dean was too tired and out-of-it to fight back. Once he had shut Dean in the bathroom and Bobby could hear the shower running, Bobby finally dug out the laptop. He had lost his wife. He had lost Caleb and pastor Jim. He had lost John. He had lost Sam, then lost Dean a year later. Now, he was about to loose Sam _again_. And it was pretty much a guarantee that neither Winchester could live without the other… so if Bobby lost one of them, he feared that he would loose the other as well. Those boys were like sons to him, and if he could help it, he wasn't going to loose them again. If that boy was hurt… Bobby was going to give Jane a taste of her own medicine.

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Like I said, sorry for the late update. I'm really trying here but you guys have to be patient with me. I will update as soon as I can!!!!!! You guys are all awesome!


	10. Chapter 10

Cold. Ice cold. Sam was so hot he wanted to die. He was shivering. He was sweating. It was too hot. He was so freaking cold.

He turned his head to the left, and there was a shadow in the dark, someone approaching. Pulling on his restrains, Sam struggled. The shadow came closer, but before Sam could get a good look at its face it turned it's back. There was a familiar voice in the air.

"Calm it, Sammy."

Sam breathed in a sigh of relief – sucking in the freezing air that burned the lungs – and blew it out softly. He could see his breath, even though it was pitch black. How did that work? Was he tripping out? "Oh my god, Dean. You scared" –

"Not quite."

He hesitated. "H-How did you get past Jane? She's gonna kill you if she finds you."

Dean laughed, walking foreword slowly. Sam couldn't really see his face because it was too hidden by shadows. Only the general shape of it. But it was obviously Dean. "Jane… She's the last of your worries, Sammy."

Sam tried to swallow the weird lump forming in his throat. That sounded almost like… a threat. _Dude… you're just paranoid. It's only Dean._

"Dean, stop messing around." Sam's voice was a little bit shakier than he intended. "We gotta get out of here. Come on and get me off this thing."

There was a pause. A really long one. Sam shifted uncomfortably, wondering when his restraints got so tight.

"Dean?"

"Why the hell would I want to do that?"

The lump in his throat grew, and suddenly it was hard to breathe. "W-What? Dude you're a friggen j-jerk. This isn't funny. Get me off this thing."

There was another pause. This one was shorter than the last, but to Sam it felt a whole lot longer. "Jerk? What does that make you then, a bitch?"

That should have been a comforting remark… but it wasn't. Dean sounded wrong. Sam couldn't pinpoint _how_ it sounded wrong, but it was. All wrong.

"Well then…"Dean moved into the light, and leaned really close to Sam's ear. The look on his face was unnatural; hollow, pale and washed out, and it made Sam's breath catch in his chest. "Say your prayers, bitch. This is going to be a long ride."

Sam was about to say something, but when he saw what was in Dean's hand his lungs suddenly didn't have any air. And when the pain came, there wasn't even enough to scream.

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Jane pulled the needle from Sam's arm, watching his face for a second for any signs that the injection had failed. His face was calm and peaceful looking, although Jane knew what was going on just under the surface. There were no signs of life or reaction at all, other than the barely-there movement of Sam's sedated breathing. She threw the vial in the garbage, barely containing a smile. Sam thought he was dead. He thought he was in hell. This was perfect.

Heels creating a tempo on the cold stone floors, Jane gave Sam another smirk as she exited the room and continued down the hall. The third door down the hall was locked, and she raised her hand – palm foreword – to the door. The lock clicked, and the door swung open with a squeak. She let herself inside, plopping her host's body down in a comfortable chair in front of a large computer system.

"All right Sammy," Jane muttered under her breath, going through a list of folders in her computer system. "Where are you hiding?"

A long list of files scanned in front of her eyes, and she began moving through them in search for the one that she needed. It had been hard to get this footage on the computer, but there were humans who she had managed to… obtain… the required equipment from. And the information. And the expertise. If humans hadn't been so whiny, week and pathetic, they could almost be useful to an extent.

The footage, Jane remembered with a smirk, were memories. Well… most of them were. They were clips from movies, memories from human experiments and valuable clips that she had taken from her own head. They had all been altered, fabricated and twisted into an almost "alternate reality video-game" sort of mode, so that she could inject anyone she wanted into the horror-show. That person would have a long list of memories to go through all played like a synced up playlist based on their own personality type and emotional weaknesses. It was a masterpiece, and one that Jane took _all_ the credit for. Who else could say that they had developed a supernatural demonic memory-transfer computer program? Honestly… it was a beauty.

First it started off like a 3-D movie experience, watching things from the outside. That would mean that Sam was probably seeing one of Jane's memories right now as an outsider. But soon – within a few seconds, actually - the program would begin to seep into his brain like a computer virus (which in a way, it was) and the memories would start mingling with his imagination. Over time, Sam's brain would kick into overdrive and begin running the program itself, fabricating it's own images based on what he had seen. Whatever she put in his head… that was what he saw. But once he had seen enough, his brain would just keep fabricating similar images until the program wasn't even doing the work anymore. It was brilliant.

She scanned down the list until she found the file that had been selected by the machine – titled "hellday1" – and opened it. This was the file that Sam's brain had randomly launched onto, and lucky for her it wasn't a very nice one. Dean was in it too. It was, as the title suggested, the memory of her first day in hell. Heck, she had a thousand more just like it in the playlist. Sam had all the time in the world to discover them, too.

"What's your precious little brother going to think of you now, Dean?" Jane locked the computer and pushed away from it with a smirk. "Now that Sam knows who you really are?"


	11. Chapter 11

It had been eight days since Sammy had gone missing.

Eight days.

That was a long time, especially when you were Dean Winchester. Eight days was long enough for him to drive across the continental U.S. and back, for Sam to read another five books, for Bobby to learn a new language. Eight days equaled one-hundred and ninety-two hours; or eleven-thousand, five-hundred and twenty minutes; or six-hundred and ninety-one thousand, two-hundred seconds. Eight days was a _long_ freaking time!

And of course, Dean had been panicky for the first few days. But that was until he had found out who he was dealing with. Now he was in a state of constant emergency, and had been for the past three days. He would be that way until he found his brother.

Dean lay awake in bed, on his side and facing away from the table where Bobby sat typing away on the keyboard, his eyes closed. The old man had told him to get some sleep, and Dean had been pretending now for the past hour and a half just for Bobby's sake. There was no way he would be able to sink into anything close to sleep right now, not if Sammy wasn't sleeping. Right now, Sammy wasn't anything close to sleeping.

Was this what it had been like for Sam, when Dean was in hell? Had he just lain awake in bed for days on end, telling himself that he wouldn't sleep because Dean wasn't sleeping?

_Stop it Dean, he's not in hell. It can't get that bad._

Dean bit his lip, fighting furiously at the sudden tightness behind his chest. Oh whom was he kidding? It could get bad. It could get _very_ bad.

"Dean, get 'yer ass up out of bed so I can show you something!" Bobby's voice knocked some sense into him, because it was urgent. Bobby told him to go to sleep and then woke him up again? This was definitely something big. He jumped to his feet, all manner of pretending to be asleep gone.

"What is it, Bobby?" Dean strode around to the table where Bobby was sitting with Sam's laptop.

"I think I found something…"Bobby was typing so furiously at the keyboard that Dean almost worried that he would break it, but after a minute he stopped. Before he could explain what he was doing, he picked up his cell and started dialing.

"Bobby, what is it?" Dean looked to his friend in confusion, but the man wasn't paying him any attention.

"Hello? Yes, I understand that it's late." Bobby's voice was business-like, although still very firm. Clearly he wasn't to be messed with tonight. "I need to talk to a Mr. Carver. Oh this _is_ him? Well good. My name is Federal Marshal James Crane. Yes, My badge number is 2345676674. Uh huh… Alright then…."There was a pause, in which Bobby was listening to someone on the other end. "Good. Now listen, I wanted to ask you about the equipment that you reported missing two months ago… Yes, I do understand that it is a bit late for this type of search… Well it wasn't an issue back then. And what were the damages? Any witnesses?" Another pause. "Hallucinations, you say. Now why would you think that? They were black? Mhmm… Of course, whole buckets of crazy, I know. Now what is the name of scientist? Mhmm… And what was it used for, exactly?" Bobby was writing something down now, his pen scratching across an old napkin from the dinner down the road. "Alright Sir, thank you for your time. I will give you a call if I have any more questions. Have a good night."

Bobby hung up the phone with a slap, and then he was back to typing again. Dean raised his eyebrows, confused. "Bobby, what the hell are you doing?"

"Last month," Bobby pulled up an old newspaper article on the computer screen and pointed at it with his index finger. "There was all this medical equipment stolen from a county hospital in the north end."

Dean ran his tongue over his teeth for a minute, trying to run that through his mind again. "Uh… what does that have to do with anything? I thought you were trying to find Sam."

"Well I just talked to the head scientist down at the hospital there, and he said that one of the male nurses was there when the equipment was stolen." Bobby went on as if Dean hadn't even spoken. "This guy got knocked unconscious by some woman half his size, who then proceeded to somehow make away with two tons worth of equipment within a half-hour. He said the woman had black eyes, but of course the doc's think he just took the blow to the head pretty hard."

Dean nodded as at least one of the puzzle-pieces clicked into his mind. "Of course, we think differently? It's got to be Jane, right?"

"Of course."

"But why medical equipment? I don't get the connection here," Dean gestured to the screen to prove his point.

"Well it was all still in the experimental stage," Bobby explained, starting to look a little uncomfortable. He pulled up a few diagrams that he had hacked into on some scientific website, but he was going by them too fast for Dean to catch anything worth remembering. "There was a whole room full of this stuff that all could be used together. It was developed for treating schizophrenia. Medicinal therapy, electroshock, a restraining bed, the works. They had two of these sets altogether. One of them in the children's wing, and one in the adult's wing…"

Dean was still at a bit of a loss, although somehow the words _electroshock_ and_ restraining bed_ didn't sound good. "And let me guess," Dean scanned the newspaper article with his eyes, feeling like he was about to blow a casket. "The one that went missing was the one in the adult's wing? The one that would fit a grown man?"

Bobby hesitated, but that was enough.

"Son of a bitch…"Dean went to take a swing at the table lamp, but realized that it was already smashed and came back empty handed. He wanted to take the room apart piece by piece, if just to vent his anger, but he knew that it wouldn't get him anywhere. It would be better to save it for Jane. He started pacing angrily.

"Dean…"Bobby's voice was quiet, but still urgent. " Look son, I know this is hard, but you need to stay focused. I'm not done yet."

_Not done?_ Dean wanted to cry, and suddenly the images of all the equipment finally registered in his head.

"We both agreed that Jane has to be in town, and there are only a few places in town that could run machinery like this. One of them is the hospital, which is obviously a big no…" Bobby was talking with his hands, a sure sign that he felt that he needed to get Dean's attention and keep it. "There is also a rec-centre, but that is too public for Jane to hide up in there…"

Impatient, Dean stopped pacing and turned to glare at his old friend. "And what else?"

If Bobby was angry at Dean for his behavior, he didn't show it. On the contrary, he seemed to be condoning it. "There's also the old rec-centre. They closed it down three years ago. It's abandoned, but the electrical system would still run something like this. And it's on the outskirts of town, nice and quiet."

Dean nodded, grabbing his car keys. "Alright then, what are we waiting for?"

Bobby nodded, and he stood up and shut the laptop with a click. Dean hadn't even realized that Bobby already had his coat on. "I'm ready when you are, Dean."

Dean _was_ ready. They were going to find Sam. Hopefully – Dean tried to put the image of the restraining bed out of his head – they wouldn't be too late.

The Impala's tires made screeching noises on the cold hard pavement as Dean made it swerve into a tight U-turn in the packed parking lot of the motel, narrowly missing a badly parked SUV. The car straightened itself out after a few swerves, and by then Dean was already speeding down the road with a nervous Bobby in the passenger's seat.

"Dean…"The hunter removed his trucker-cap, smoothing down what hair he had left before putting it safely back on. " There's a difference between being in a hurry and being suicidal. If we roll or hit something, or get _arrested_, we aren't going to find Sam tonight, you hear me boy?"

Dean grumbled in response, although he let his foot ease up just enough to lower the speed of the car ten degrees. They were still going ninety mph in a sixty mph zone, but that was about as much leave as Dean would allow. He didn't even try and loosen the fingers that were pried around the steering wheel so tightly that his poor baby might get damaged. Hell, he didn't even notice. If damage to the Impala was the price to pay for getting Sam back, it would be a good deal. But then again, if deals were that easy then they wouldn't be in this situation right now. "Where are we going here, Bobby?"

"Follow this road south until you pass eight stop signs, then turn left."

Doing as he was told, Dean tried his hardest not to hit anybody. Lucky for him though, the roads in that end town at night were empty, and the farther south he drove the quieter and darker it got. This wasn't a place to take your kids for a walk, that was for sure. But it was the perfect place for people like Jane. Dean finally made the left turn. "Now what?"

"The rec-centre is at the end of this road. It shouldn't be hard to find."

Dean slowed down, careful not to miss the building that he was looking for. But when he finally saw it, he was surprised at how out of place it was. While most buildings in this end of town were warehouses and storage-buildings, here at the end of town was a rec-centre that was supposed to attract customers. It would have once been an attractive looking building, less than ten or twenty years old with a solid concrete foundation and tall walls of brick that surrounded the wide three-story building. Dean pulled in behind a large monument of some sort, and cut the engine to protect their inconspicuousness. He and Bobby climbed out of the car quietly, and met at the trunk of the Impala to grab a few supplies and discuss their plan in hushed whispers.

"I'm thinking," Dean checked his sawed-off shotgun to make sure it was loaded properly, and shoved a few more shells in his pocket. "Jane's layer is probably in the basement."

Bobby shoved a can of red spray-paint and a bag of salt into a small pack on his back. "No disagreement's there. A concrete basement ought to be pretty quiet. No one would hear the" –

Dean tried to stifle the sound of his swallow of fear, although in the almost dead silence outside he was pretty sure Bobby heard it. He was glad Bobby didn't finish his sentence. _Hear the screams?_

Dean wasn't the praying type, but right now he was damn close.


	12. Chapter 12

**I just wanted to say a big thank you to each and every one of you who reads and reviews in this and other stories of mine. I would love to give you guys a hug, but that would be awkward. Maybe I should just pay you back by writing my best every time? I'm so glad to have fans like you guys! :D**

**Now I know a lot of you guys have been waiting for the events in this chapter. So enjoy!**

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Dean looked up from the trunk, observing the large building with speculation. "Alright Bobby, give me the MO on this place. So it was a Rec-centre _and_ a hospital, or what?"

Bobby nodded, shoving a flask of holy water inside his jacket. "Pretty much. It used to be more of a community centre. It's a huge building. The front side was the public front. You know the pool, indoor bowling, gaming arena, that kind of thing. Around the back there," Bobby pointed to the left of the building, gesturing to the side that they hadn't seen yet. "Are the medical wings. There was a small hospital and a care-centre for the crazy folk. It was all pretty down-to-earth, being so small and all. The building is huge, though."

"Wow, someone was enthusiastic." Dean whistled, turning back to his stuff. "Why did they shut it down then, if it was just so awesome?"

Stiff-shouldered, Bobby sighed. "Well… you aren't really supposed to have all those different kinds of facilities in one building."

"No surprise there."

"There were some problems. Apparently a few mental patients managed to get out of their wards and kidnap some kids from the arena, and drowned 'em in the pool. The community panicked and shut the whole place down just like that." Bobby snapped his fingers together to make his point. "Now the only attention this place gets is local kids breaking in and looking for a scare."

Dean huffed, shutting the trunk of the Impala once they had their weapons in hand. If anyone knew how scary it really could get in there, no one would get anywhere near it. A pissed off hell-bitch with a revenge-complex wasn't exactly Dean's idea of a good time.

"Alright…"Dean mentally braced himself for whatever ordeal he was about to find inside the building in front of him. " Let's get this over with."

Bobby nodded firmly, seeming to prepare himself also. "Unless Jane re-wired a few things, Sam will be downstairs in the mental wing. But we have to get in from the rec-centre."

They sulked out onto the abandoned property, hiding behind bushes and anything else somewhat large to hopefully hide their approach from any peeping eyes inside. Bobby hissed between his teeth as they crouched behind a rosebush close to the side doors. "You think she's got help in there somewhere?"

Help! _Oh god, I hope not…_ He sighed. "I don't care if there are a hundred of them, Bobby. Just _being _in there mean's I'm gonna kill them."

Tossing Dean a look he couldn't recognize, Bobby frowned. "Dean…."

He couldn't help grumbling at that. "What?!"

"Well… There's people in there too."

"Yeah, people like my brother. He never got any humanity, and neither will they." Dean pulled back his jacket enough to show the demon-killing knife at his belt, and then let it fall again. "I'm not taking any prisoner's today, Bobby." And with that final sentence, Dean headed towards the next cover, and then stopped when he was outside the doors. Bobby caught up just in time for Dean to finish picking the locks.

They entered with gun's drawn, ready to blast any possible enemy's with rock salt, but so far everything was quiet. Because it was so dark, they stopped to take out their flashlights before heading farther into the room. It was a long, high-ceilinged room, with many boarded-up windows that let little light in now but paid tribute to the once splendid-looking building. There was a large mass in the centre of the room, and after shining their lights on it for a minute the men realized that it was the cover on the pool. Both too stoic to vocalize how disgusting the fact was that the pool still had water in it after all these years, Dean and Bobby continued on around the distraction. They were very careful not to step too close to the edge.

Once they got around it, they left the room through a huge set of doors, down a dusty flight of stairs, and found themselves in a sort of lobby. To their left was a small room with box-shaped things stacked against the walls that might have been computers or video-gaming systems, and on their other side was a hallway that lead out of sight. Straight ahead was a sign above a large set of doors that read "Main Lobby." Through those doors they went, and once inside they found themselves looking back into the light through a large set of boarded-up main doors. The main lobby was fairly large, with about ten different doors leading into different wings, and there was a sign on the far wall above the doors with arrows pointing in the directions of every wing of the building. The rec-centre (where they had just come from) was left, with the pool upstairs and the different arenas on the main floor. To the right was the Medical Wing, and the sign directed that the mental ward was downstairs while the hospital took up most of the upstairs and the main floor. They moved right, pick locking the doors for the Medical Wing and tightening their grips on their guns once they got inside. Again, they were met by a large hallway. After every set of doors they went through, they were careful to paint a quick demon's trap on the floor in spray-paint, but it was odd that they hadn't had to use them yet. The building was silent.

"Alright…"Bobby's voice seemed huge in the silence that surrounded them, although Dean knew that he had barely breathed it. " Now where is everybody? This place should be swarming with demons by now."

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Jane rested her elbows against he table, her lab-coat brushing against the grainy wooden edges as she pored over yet another report. Although she had hoped to find out more about Sam's powers by studying him, she was still coming up with nothing concrete. He had the same sense of homeostasis as the average male his size, including heart beat, blood pressure, organ function, everything. Sam was healthy as a horse, but he wasn't abnormal. In fact, he was almost boring! Hell, the only thing different about Sam in general was the demon blood. But she already knew about _that_! Something a little bit more in-depth would have been nice. And as if things weren't any worse, Sam seemed to be doing just _that_. Getting worse! Jane had enjoyed the idea of both studying Sam and torturing him at the same time, but it turned out that she just wasn't as able to play with her cake and eat it too. If Sam had given in a lot sooner – which was the plan, generally – he wouldn't have shown any deteriorating body functions at all. She was hurting her test subject in ways that were damaging her work, and that just couldn't do. Sam wasn't going to say yes to help her out without a little push, but Jane was starting to think that it just wasn't worth it anymore. Sam was just too much of a wild card to be trusted, just like his brother, and even if he did break there would be no guarantee that she could use him to her advantage. And if she still couldn't find out what made him tick, there really was no point even keeping him around.

Except to toy with him, of course.

Suddenly there was a bleeping behind Jane, and she turned around in confusion to face one of the main computer screens against the wall behind her. Once she located the guilty machine, she smiled. The motion detector had gone off. Things were about to get interesting.

Jane plopped down into her chair at one of the computers happily. She leaned forewords at the keyboard and typed in her password, and then looked through the computer files until she found what she was looking for. File number 134 was active. Sam had sped through one-hundred and thirty-four memories in four and a half days! This was more than she had hoped for, and it was definite proof that the machine worked, because the history showed that Sam's brain had gained speed over time. Although to Sam, everything seemed to be realistic.

Time really did seem longer in hell. If Jane was giving him the full experience, she had to include the timing, didn't she?

It was with almost sadness that Jane disconnected the machine from Sam's brain, but she knew that the fun hadn't even started yet. Dean was here… The party was just getting prepared.

Step one: complete.

Doing her lab coat back up, Jane strutted out of her observatory and back into the lab. She looked Sam up and down – noting that he was showing signs that his paralysis was wearing off – and went to the machine by the door: the electroshock therapy. Powering it up, she smiled to herself.

Down the hallway was the main power room. Jane entered it almost happily, and pulled the large power switch downwards. Even though there was power on her floor, soon enough the entire building would be lit and running. Perfect. She let herself back into the observatory, grabbing a walkie-talkie from the counter and tapping it to the intercom. She pressed the "Arcade" button on the intercom system, and then went back into the lab.

Step two: complete.

On the table, Sam was starting to move a little bit. His eyes were still closed. "Hey sleepy head," Jane used a sticky-sweet voice as she dug her fingernails into Sam's bicep, causing him to moan under his breath. When he didn't open his eyes right away, she slapped him. And it worked. "Up and at it, Sammy. You have a visitor."

Sam's eyes went in and out of focus for a minute, probably wondering why he wasn't dead. And the fact that he was still partially drugged wouldn't he helping either. "Wa…." He blinked at Jane a few times, and then started pulling at the restraints tiredly. "…Jane…?"

Jane smiled at the absolute terror in his voice, smiling down at him with pleasure. "Of course, honey. Who did you think it was?"

This time there was more strength put into pulling at the cuffs, and there were already tears in the man's eyes. "Please… just let me go. Just… _please._"

God, the kid was crying. Begging. It was pathetic. She had been waiting over a week for this. Sam had snapped.

_Finally_.

Jane leaned close to his face. She grinned as he tried unsuccessfully to pull away. "No can-do sweetie, But I did bring you a present. Big brother's home." She shrugged nonchalantly, pulling away again to grab the other walkie-talkie from where she had left it beside the electroshock machine. "I guess I was wrong about him going to hell and all."

It seemed to take a minute for Sam to wrap his head around that. But he had just seen Dean in hell, right?! The look on Sam's face told Jane everything she needed to know.

"You're…"Sam kept shaking his head back and forth, somewhere between shock and denial. " That's not true. He's… he's not… you're not…"

Jane just laughed, pressing the TALK button on the walkie-talkie. "Hello Dean," She said loudly into the machine, trying very hard not to giggle. "I'm glad you stopped by. Why don't you join us? I'm afraid you're quite late, but at least I can get you a party favor, no?" Looking to Sam with a raised eyebrow, Jane held out he walkie-talkie. "Want to talk to Dean?" As expected, Sam just kind of looked up at her in utter confusion and fear. "You sure? Alright." She put the little machine back to her mouth. "Anyways Dean, I'm supposed to deliver a message from Sam. He really wants to see you." Jane pressed the TALK button inward until it jammed, and set the walkie-talkie beside Sam's head. And then with nothing else to say, she flicked the switch on the electroshock. Sam's screams were muffled as she closed the door behind her and headed up the stairs, but she knew that they would be loud enough on the intercom.

Step three: complete.

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Dean and Bobby hurried forwards in the dark until they found the stairwell. A hurried attempt at rushing down the stairs was cut short when the lights came on abruptly. "What the…" Almost blinded, Dean jerked around in a futile hope that whoever turned them on would be right behind him, but there was no one there. Jane had turned the power on from somewhere else.

Looking around nervously, Bobby's face pulled forwards into a sour frown. "Damnit, Dean." He shook his head angrily, and Dean looked at him in consent.

There as an odd static noise coming from somewhere in the lobby, but suddenly it turned into a voice. "Hello Dean."

Dean swore under his breath, and Bobby followed suit. She knew they we there.

"Glad you stopped by. Why don't you join us?" Jane's voice was perfectly calm and welcoming, and Dean was furious at the mere sound of it. "I'm afraid you're quite late, but at least I can get you a party favor, no?" There were shuffling noises, and they could hear Jane talking to someone else on the other end. For some reason that Dean couldn't pinpoint, the voice sounded wrong. If Jane was downstairs, why was her voice coming from towards the lobby?

"Anyways Dean," Jane cut back in sharply. "I'm supposed to deliver a message from Sam. He really wants to see you." There was more static, then the sound of something being slammed down on a hard surface. The shuffling stopped after that.

And then suddenly a loud, blood-curdling scream pierced Dean's eardrums, and the sound of it almost made him drop his weapons. He's heard that voice before… but never quite like that.

"Sam!" Dean started running towards the noise, every thought focused on making it stop. Down the hospital wing, out through the doors, into the medical wing, out through the other doors, into the lobby. And then Dean stopped. The sound was coming from the arcade.

Dean cocked the shotgun, holding it in front of him as he hurried into the tiny room. All of the machines were turned on, lights flashing and music blaring into some confusing and creepy version of a funhouse. He ran until he got to the back of the room to see nothing, and then double-checked quickly in confusion. There was no one here!

But the screaming still continued.

Where the hell was Sam?!

Bobby caught up with Dean in the doorway with his own gun drawn, huffing and puffing but otherwise ready to fight. He scanned the tiny room with his eyes also, before they drifted to the left.

Towards the intercom system. At first, Dean was confused. But then he saw the note tapped to the screen.

_I told you a long time ago that I would leave you proof, Dean._

Dean's heart threatened to stop. They had been running the wrong way!

"Son of a" –

They scurried back into the hallway, and by now Dean's blood was pumping. Sam's screams still reverberated off the walls, and the sound of it was like a knife in between Dean's ribs. It was scary how long Sam had been going. He had _never_ heard Sam scream like that before!

_Nononopleasegodmakeitstopnonono…._

Once they got to the Medical Wing, Dean lead the way downstairs, where Sam's screams were echoing for real this time without the magnification of the intercom. Dean's boots hit each stair with a loud crash, but nothing could drown out the horrible sounds in front of them. But halfway down the staircase, they stopped. And Dean ran even faster.

Every door was shut and appeared identical, but it the odd buzzing noise behind one of the doors told them that it was the one they wanted. "Sam, hold on man!" Dean backed up a few steps, aiming a high kick into the metal door, but it didn't budge. Another followed, and another. Only after the fourth did it finally burst open, and Dean and Bobby hurried into the room to see an ugly sight.

Sam was strapped down to a table. Convulsing. Being electrocuted. While as a ghost.

Dean rushed forwards, panicking when he couldn't see the machine that was doing this. "No, no, no…"He looked around Sam's head, under the table, behind the machine, but there was nothing there. Sam was going to die! He was going to die, he was going to die, he was going to –

_Crack!_ With the sound of a shotgun, everything just stopped. Dean turned to Bobby just in time to watch him lower his gun, and a machine in the corner by the door emitted a similar sound to a dying car engine before it stopped whizzing. There was a half-second of thanks in Dean's eyes towards his friend before they turned back to Sam, still and pale and half-naked and half-dead on a table. Dean reached out shakily for a pulse, and it took a minute for him to find one.

But when he did, Dean almost cried in relief.

Sam didn't even seem to be breathing at all, but after a few long and painful seconds his chest finally moved half an inch. Thank God," Dean hurriedly grabbed his lock-picking kit from his pocket and started working on the restrains on his brother. "It's gonna be okay man, you hear me? Can you hear me, Sammy?"

Bobby moved into Dean's line of sight, and he noticed that the older man had already gotten Sam's ankles free. He reached out towards the little tube-like things stuck into Sam's chest under the collarbones, and pulled them out with caution. They were pins. Dean winced when he saw the blood, and although he wasn't squirmy by any means he wanted to hurl.

Sam's wrists were free soon. Dean leaned over his brother hopefully, running a hand through the messy hair. "You in there, Sammy?" It wasn't until Dean heard his own voice that he realized that he was crying. "Just open those eyes for me, bro. _Please_. Sam?" He gave his brother a small shake, and couldn't help the despair he felt when there was no response.

"Dean… When you were electrocuted a few years back" –

"Don't." Oh God, Dean didn't want to hear this now.

"That was only for a few seconds," Bobby finished grimly. "And you still had so many problems… Are you sure he's" –

"He's alive, damnit!" Dean glared daggers at his old friend for even suggesting it. "I checked it myself, alright! He's breathing!"

Bobby moved his eyes down to the younger man's chest for a minute, and it was a while before they saw the tiny movements there. "Just barely," he put a hand on Sam's chest softly, feeling the shaky breaths for himself. "Dean, we gotta get him outa here."

"I know, Bobby." Dean looked around the room quickly, until his eyes locked on the bottom of the table. There were no wheels. "We just need a way to get him upstairs..."

"I'll go find a stretcher from one of the other rooms," Bobby offered. He hurried out of the lab quickly.

Dean looked at Sam for a minute, hating the stillness in his brother's looks. So pale, so still, so sunken-faced, that he appeared dead. In fact, Dean had to look to Sam's barely-moving chest every few seconds just to confirm the fact that the man was alive at all. He pulled off his jacket, throwing it over his little brother's shirtless torso. "Its okay little bro," Dean rubbed Sam's shoulders gently, trying to warm him up a little bit. "Bobby and I are going to get you out of here, alright? I'm not going to let that bitch hurt you again. You're going to be oka" –

Outside there was a quick bang, and then the sound of a man moaning. _Bobby!_ Dean hurried to the door, reaching inside his coat for the flask of holy water hidden there. The noise had seemed to come to the left of the door, so Dean took a chance and jumped facing that direction. As he did he swung a wide arc with his arm and holy water went flying.

The water hit its mark. Jane's scream hit the air, and Dean swung again. Bobby slid from his place on the far wall, hitting the ground with a thud.

Dean went at it with the holy water until Bobby was standing, and the older man had his flask this time. Which was good, Dean realized, because his had run out.

Jane dove out of the way for Bobby's first swing, crashing into Dean and sending him into the far wall. They ricocheted off of it, and Dean caught his footing enough to stay on his feet. He grabbed her by the shoulders where she was standing up against the wall, pulled her to the side and wrapped an ankle behind her feet. She tumbled under her own weight.

If it were any other woman, Dean would have felt bad about the way he landed with his knees hitting her shins and his elbows landing in her stomach, but this time he couldn't have enjoyed it more.

Jane gasped slightly and pulled her left arm free, aiming a well-thrown punch into Dean's jawbone. He grabbed her small – albeit powerful – wrist with his larger hand, and pulled it across her torso and leaned on it with his shoulder in an attempt to pin her down. Bobby was standing overtop of them, throwing in holy water when need be, but there was really no angle for the man to approach the fight to be of any help.

Dean pinned Jane with his weight, pulling his left hand away long enough to reach for his knife. As if sensing his movements, Jane twisted her body to the side, hips first, sending Dean toppling to the ground. The knife slashed against her stomach as he fell, and there was a loud cry of pain. As Dean rolled off his back another cry, Bobby's this time, followed suit.

Dean scrambled to his hands and knees again, just in time to be bulldozed onto his back by a blur in while. Suddenly he was looking up into Jane's angry face. He jabbed upwards with the knife, but she caught his wrist with both of hers and started to twist it towards him.

"The grand inquisitor, died by his own knife…"Jane was panting with exertion, but the malice in her voice was apparent. " Kind of ironic, huh?"

"That's not…"Dean grabbed her other wrist with his own, struggling against her superhuman strength as the knife got closer to his torso. " That's not me. You don't know anything."

"All I know is what you _did_." Jane pushed on Dean's arm with that last word, and the point of the knife brushed his shirt for a few seconds before he managed to get it back up. "You turned me into this! It's your fault!"

"No _you _turned you into this!" Dean looked into her eyes, trying to find something close to human emotion there. "Don't you get it?! They didn't turn us into anything, they made us _choose_! You _chose_ to become a demon!" Dean used Jane's own trick against her, throwing her body off him and twisting his so that she hit the ground and he could get up first. Still on the ground, he swung the blade randomly in her direction.

Jane rolled away from range of the knife, jumping to her feet almost before Dean did. "So you're saying it's _my_ fault!?" Jane laughed bitterly, her eyes turning back. "Everything you did?! You created me!"

"Tell that to Sam," Dean jumped to his feet and paced forwards angrily, tightening his grip on the knife. "You think I made you do that to him? Huh?! He was never a part of this!"

"Of course he is." Jane kept to one place until Dean swung, and then grabbed his arm and shoved him face-first into the wall. "He's your brother!"

Pushing off of the wall with his hands, Dean whipped his arm in a wide arc as he turned. The blade slashed through the air without hitting anything.

Jane laughed and sidestepped out of Dean's range. "Getting a little rusty, Dean? You used to be the master with a blade like that."

Dean went to swipe again, but instead doubled back and grabbed Jane from the side. He caught her off guard and she fell against the wall with a smack.

"Augh!" Jane's expression was pain-filled as she let out a cry of surprise.

"You know what?" Dean put his left forearm across Jane's shoulders, pinning her to the wall, and held out the knife in front of her nose. "You spoke to soon." He smiled, waving the blade back and forth a few times. "I still am the master." And with that, he stabbed her in the gut. He kept her pinned there under his blade, draining away in the same manner that was both her beginning and her end. And it was all Dean's fault, that much was certain. Yes… Jane had been his creation. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to kill her. She was a monster.

_It takes one to know one._

Once Jane's body stopped shooting sparks, he let her slide to the ground with a wet slumping sound. Dean leaned over her long enough to wipe off he blade on her crisp white jacket, the blood leaving a dark maroon stain, and then he put it back in it's holster.

Bobby was on the ground a few feet away, unconscious. Dean shuffled over to him and shook the man rather harshly. "Up and at 'em, Bobby."

Lines on a wrinkled face were made deeper by the frown that dawned Bobby's expression, and as Bobby's eyes squinted open he shook Dean's hand away. "I'm up, I'm up…"

"Bobby, we need to get Sam out of here!" Dean grabbed his old friend by the arm and started to heave him up, and he felt the man's weight move into it's own control the second Bobby registered what Dean was saying.

Bobby nodded, rubbing his forehead as he hurried back into the lab. "God, Sam!"

Dean somehow made it to the bed first, and the first thing he did was check for breathing and pulse. It was there, but Dean had a feeling that it wasn't very steady. Putting a hand to his brother's skin, Dean blankly registered that it was cold. Not cold enough to be worried about…. But still.

"Dean…"Bobby's voice was urgent but slow as he watched the limp man in front of them. " Sam needs a hospital. We need an ambulance!"

Dean shook his head, his face tight. "No Bobby, we can't take him to a hospital."

The look on Bobby's face was that of utter disgust. "Dean, Sam needs help" –

"I know!" Dean growled back, his fists tight on the edge of the table. "But dammit, if Jane's got friends in high places then someone's going to be after us soon! We can't hold up in a hospital! Your house is only a few hours from here, isn't it? I know you have some medial equipment stored up in there _somewhere_!"

Bobby was still looking at Dean like he had two heads. "I don't know Dean…. It's dangerous to move him like this. Even though a hospital would be hard to protect, Sam needs the help."

"Bobby, _please_." Hazel eyes watered as Dean tried not to spill his guts, and across the table Bobby softened a little bit. "_Trust me_ on this one. If someone comes for us in a hospital, we're _all _dead."

"If we do this… How are we going to get him to my house? It's a four-hour drive."

Dean sighed deeply, completely understanding the implications of what he was suggesting. "Bobby you can run an IV machine, right? And oxygen?"

"Course."

"What about a defibrillator?" Dean hesitated after the last word, and this time it was Bobby's turn to sigh.

Bobby's expression was as guilty as if he was about to help Dean commit a murder. "Yeah I… I took a course a few years ago. The machine's upstairs in the closet."  
Dean nodded. "Than we can take care of him. There's no way to tell how bad it is right now, but we can't stay in this town. If need be we can move Sam to the hospital by your house, but there's no way we can do it here. Bobby… _please_."

Bobby removed his trucker cap, and ran a hand through the hair that he had left. "…Okay Dean… I'll humor you on this one. But if something happens to this boy…"The hat went back on, and Bobby looked at Dean with more anger than had been expected. "Then I'm holding _you _accountable. You hear?"

" You wont have to. If something happened to Sam…"Dean moved his eyes up and down the table, knowing exactly what he would do if something happened to Sam. "Let's get him upstairs." Dean put his jacket back on, and slipped his hands under Sam's arms.

"What 'er you doing?"

"There's no time to find a cot," Dean explained breathlessly as he pulled his brother's deadweight towards him across the table. "We need to carry him." Dean pushed Sam up and back so that his back rested against his chest and he was almost in a sitting position. Sam moaned softly with the movement, and for a minute Dean didn't move. Bobby's eyebrows went into his hairline. "Sammy?" Dean questioned softly into his little brother's mass of hair, and shook him ever so softly. "You awake in there?"

There was no response. Dean shared pensive looks with Bobby before wrapping his arms around Sam's chest. He interlocked his fingers and then gestured to his accomplice with a jab of the head. "Grab his legs."

Bobby grabbed Sam's ankles, and together they carefully lowered him off the table. Dean winced, shifting the awkward weight in his arms. He was carrying most of Sam's 200+ pounds, and once again found himself cursing the day that little brothers were allowed to grow so big. Likely even more uncomfortable however, was Sam. Bent at a 45 degree angle, his neck bent forward, Sam was being carried in really the only way they could manage. But Dean still didn't feel comfortable about it. There was no time to feel bad however, as they moved into the hallway outside.

Jane's body didn't get a passing glance, but that didn't stop Dean from picturing her death in his head. Was she the victim? The attacker? Where did the lines blur these days? Maybe it didn't even matter. Dean was a victim in the pit just as much as he was a villain, and even he didn't know where the fine line was. He shouldn't have said yes, and that was that. Plain and simple. But could he really blame Jane for doing the exact same thing? Or did becoming a demon just bring things to another level?

The two men passed the elevator but avoided it, knowing that if it got stuck they would never escape. That would be the last thing they needed.

When they got to the bottom of the landing, Dean's feet hit the bottom stair and he flatlined. It wasn't with comfort that his back and but hit the hard stairs, and he involuntarily gasped out loud.

But soon he realized that he wasn't the only one who had. "…ugh…." Sam's voice was barely audible, but after being attuned to this voice for almost thirty years, he wasn't going to miss it now.

"Hey, man." Dean patted Sam's chest easily, and a shaky hand came up to grab his wrist. "Finally decided to join us?" He tried to ignore the fact that Sam's fingernails were digging into his wrist, instead distracted by now weak Sam's breathing sounded.

"…s-stop…" The fingernails tore into his skin again, and Dean felt Sam's body tense up against him. "…pl… puh…"

Dean's heart broke at the pleas, and he wouldn't have been surprised if Bobby would have heard it a foot away. Not being able to help his brother when he was pained was enough to drive him crazy, but the terror in Sam's voice was just dammed horrific. "It's okay Sammy, it's just me." Dean patted Sam's arm gently, trying to convey through the haze of pain and drugs who he was. "I've got you. Your safe."

"…n…no…'ese…" By now, Sam was slurring. It wasn't long before his body went lax.

There was a moment of silence between the group, and then Bobby cleared his throat. "Come on," Bobby gestured for Dean to stand up, thankfully not making any comment to what they had just witnessed, and they made the movement upward at the same time. Dean took the stairs as quickly as he could – which wasn't very – and had to struggle to lift his legs backwards and high enough to reach the next step while somehow balancing Sam's weight in his arms. After a long few minutes they finally made it to the top, where at Dean's request they stopped to check on their patient again. Sam was out cold, but he was alive.

They continued onward. The car was still a long ways away.

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**Yes, I know I'm horrible. I guess you'll have to wait until the next chapter to find out what happens to our poor heroes! Please review, because I really want to hear your opinion on this one! **

**I'll update as soon as I can! Thanks for reading.**


	13. Chapter 13

Sorry about the wait. Life is pretty hectic lately.

Please enjoy!

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In most circumstances, Dean and Bobby wouldn't have risked going back out the building the way they had come. But because the lights were still on, they figured that it would be easier just to escape through the doors they had already pick-locked. It seemed like a _lot_ of walking to carry Sam all the way through the medical lobby into the main lobby, then into the rec centre, then past the pool and outside, and that was because it was. Dean went out first, pushing the door open with his back and letting Bobby follow suit. The hot sunlight was a surprise as it shadowed the older man's face, and even though it was much warmer and brighter outside than in, Dean still felt cold. Maybe it was Sam's own body heat – or lack thereof – that was chilling him. Or maybe it was the sense of utter tragedy that fell across the group. They had saved Sam, killed Jane… But it felt empty.

Things weren't supposed to turn out this way. Not with Sam like this.

After what seemed like years, they finally got to the Impala. Bobby lowered Sam's feet to the ground to open the back door, so Dean leaned back a little to hold Sam's weight against him. He shifted to the side and walked forwards until the back of Sam's knees hit the seat, and then Dean lowered him in about as gently as was possible. Considering that Sam was larger than he… it wasn't very.

Dean hurried around to the other back door, pulled Sam's body the rest of the way in so his legs weren't sticking out, and then maneuvered Sam's head and shoulder's onto his lap as some form of makeshift pillow. Bobby shut the doors behind them, and hurried around to the driver's seat. The car started to gain speed almost before Dean was aware of it.

Pushing Sam's hair back from his head, Dean was struck by how _bad_ his little brother looked. His face was pale and sunken, with dark circles under his closed eyes. Dirty, unwashed hair matched a filthy undershirt that Dean suspected might have been blue once before. Clearly, Sam hadn't been staying in the ritz.

Despite what he had seen - more like _heard_ - downstairs, Dean had no clue what had happened to Sam in the past couple of days, and the possibilities were terrifying. His hand hovered over Sam's torso. Almost afraid of what he might see, he pulled the worn shirt up and gave a sigh of relief when he saw that the skin was unbroken.

_Thank God…_ Dean pulled the shirt back down thankfully. At least that took away a lot of possibilities. Jane couldn't have been hurting Sam _that_ long, right? People could only take electrocution for so long… Maybe some of what she said was just a bluff to get to Deans head. Whatever it had been, it had worked.

But still. Despite the lack of cuts, Dean couldn't help feeling that the whole "glass half full" attitude was overrated. Jane had tortured his little brother! And studied him! And who knows what else! The freaking glass was not half freaking full!

As Bobby made a wide turn into to main part of town, Dean winced as he felt Sam's body shift from side to side, causing the younger man to moan in pain. "Bobby, we should stop by the motel and get Sammy some painkillers first. Four hours is a long time."

"You think he'll wake up? We can't just force 'em down his throat, Dean."

Dean shook his head. "He keeps making noise, Bobby. I think he just might."

Bobby's trucker hat bobbed up and down in the front seat. "If you think so..." The disbelief in his voice was hard to miss. Dean gritted his teeth.

"Just do it."

They pulled into the motel parking lot, tires skidding across the pavement, and Dean grabbed onto the front of Sam's shirt to keep him from sliding to the floor of the car. When they were at a full stop he opened the door and stuck his legs out, paying carefull attention to make sure that Sam's head didn't get slammed into the car door when he shut it after him. Bobby was already at the doors, twisting the key inside the lock and swearing under his breath. When it finally gave, the two men were practically fighting to get in through the door first. Dean went straight to his bed to grab his bag - he usually kept it packed at all times - and threw it over his shoulder. The military first aid kit that Sammy had bought him for his birthday two years ago was sitting on the counter in reach, and Dean was happy that for once he had thought ahead. Of course Dean hadn't prepared for _this_, but after Jane's warning he had had the brains to at least set it out just in case. Lucky for him. He grabbed that too.

Bobby was outside, shoving his own bag into the trunk of the Impala. Dean threw his bag in that direction, and set the first aid kit down beside the back door to the Impala. Inside the motel, he grabbed the first pillow and blanket within range. He slammed the door behind him with his foot. Kneeling down beside the first aid kit, Dean shuffled through the mess inside - Sam wouldn't have let it get this bad, he realized with a jolt - hoping that he had what he was looking for. "Bobby, you wanna give me a little help here?"

The older man joined Dean in front of the kit. "Whatcha looking for, son?"

Dean tossed a few things on the ground that he didn't need. "Uh... Morphine. I think we have the needles in here somewhere, we've got to..." Just in case, he started opening up the little boxes to look inside.

"Here," Bobby shoved something in his hand. It was a long blue rubber tubing. "Start with this."

Dean opened the car door and glanced down at Sam's pale face. "Here we go Sammy, one sec." He leaned against the side of the door, lifting up Sam's arm and shoving the blue tubing underneith. He pulled it back through the other side, and pulled it into a tight knot on Sam's lower bicep. He turned back to Bobby with a frown. "Found it yet?!"

"One sec..." Bobby was sticking an empty glass needle into a small glass vial, and mouthing something under his breath as he filled it a quarter of the way. "Got it."

Dean took the needle hurriedly, and flicked Sam's inner forearm with the back of the fingers in his free hand until the vein started to bulge. He inserted the needle into the vien, injecting the morphine, and threw the needle back on the ground for Bobby to - hopefully - pick up. All was well. As Dean went to untie the tubing however, something made him hesitate. The needle had left a tiny red mark on the inside of Sam's arm... but there were more. A dozen's more.

"Damn..." Dean leaned closer into the car's door, running his thumb gently over some of the marks. There wer so many of them! _God, the woman's a freaking pharmacist!_

"What is it?" Bobby's voice was worried behind him.

"He's..." Dean was surprised to find that his voice was weak. "He's had more needles, Bobby." Dean turned around to look at his friend in horror.

While Dean's eyebrows went up, Bobby's went down. "You don't think she drugged him, do you?"

Of course Dean thought that. That was just Jane's way, wasn't it? Ms. Hygienic Hellraser.

Bobby took Dean's silence as an answer. He hurried round to the driver's door, stopping to shove the first aid kit under his seat. Dean propped Sam up as carefully as he could, putting the pillow under his head. The blanket went over his torso. Once all the doors were shut - making sure not to catch one of Sammy's ginormous legs in the act - Dean jumped into the passenger's seat.

"Get us out of here." Dean turned to give his comatose little brother a watchful look in the backseat, and prayed to whatever higher power there could be out there that the morphine would be kicking in soon.

Something fell into Dean's lap. He turned back to face the front, and pulled up Bobby's cell phone. "I need you to find a number for me," Bobby barely gave Dean a passing glance as he tested the Impala's horsepower. "In the address book. His name is Brian Davidson. He's a doctor."

Thumb clicking through the button's on the small screen in front of him, Dean scanned down the list of names and numbers in Bobby's cell. "You think he can help Sam?"

"I sure hope so," Bobby pursed his lips in Dean's direction. "Sure owes me one, that's for sure. I saved his wife from a banshee three years ago, and he told me that whenever I needed a favor to call him up. He can meet us at my place."

Dean nodded to himself, pressing TALK. He practically shoved the phone in Bobby's face. "Perfect. Call him."

Pulling away from Dean's hand, Bobby snatched the phone and held it to his ear. "...Dr. Davidson, yeah... This is Bobby Singer... Look, I'm calling about that favor you owe me. I've got a young man here who needs some medical attention, and it can't be in a hospital. He's been electrocuted." There was a long pause on the other end. "I'm not sure... Yes, I understand that. But like I said, we can't take him to a hospital. It's not safe. We're taking him to my place. I need you to meet us there within three hours. I'm speeding a little bit..."

Dean clenched his jaw, his fists subconsciously tightening and untightening in the fabric of his jeans. "Damn-it Bobby, is he going to help us or not!?"

Bobby held out a hand to silence the younger man. "Just a second, boy!" He turned back to the phone. "Yes, of course. Thank you!"

That sounded good. Dean breathed a sigh of relief. At least the man was going to help.

"Uh... No, I don't know what voltage." Bobby sat up taller in his seat, looking at Sam in the rear-view mirror. "Well he's still unconscious. It's been less than a half-hour. I see..."

Now whatever the doctor was telling Bobby did _not_ sound good. Dean went back to clenching his jaw. _Just fix him please, just fix him..._

"Well we gave him morphine just now.... uh huh... two milligrams." Bobby shook his head in the midst of the conversation. "I know that's a lot, but he's a big guy, it'll spread out.... uh, about two hundred pounds. Give or take a bit." Now he was nodding. "Okay..." More nodding. "Okay..."

_God Bobby,_ Dean couldn't help glaring at his friend in anger, _let's just make this the longest phone conversation _ever_, why dont we?_

"And one more thing..." Bobby hesitated. "We checked him out and there are little bumps on the insides of his arms... Someone's been giving him needles. When you get here I want you to give him a drug test too, just in case there's something in his system.... No, I didn't mention that it was deliberate... Because a favor is a favor and I knew you would come either way... Well he did mumble a few things... Kid's in pain, that's clear.. No, he's out like a light now. We've still got the morphine.... Right..."

_Just do it, just do it, just do it..._

"Thanks doc," Bobby sighed tiredly. "There's a key under the broken flower pot out front. Let yourself in and set up what you need. We'll be there soon."

Finally, Bobby hung up.

Dean took a deep breath, realizing for the first time that he had forgotten to breathe. "What did the doctor say?"

The look Bobby gave him didn't show anything optimistic. "Well the fact that Sammy's unconscious isn't a good sign. But if he woke up, at least, for a few seconds... that sounds a little better. He said to keep him warm, talk to him if he wakes up, that sort of thing. Don't want him going into shock. And we don't know how bad he's hurting or where, so there's no way to tell what kind of damage" -

"There wont be any damage!" Dean growled in Bobby's direction, his fists clenched. Bobby ignored the outburst as if he hadn't even spoken.

"There's no way to know," Bobby repeated like before. "Hell, we don't even know where he hurts. It could be a broken bone, it could be a bump on his head. Who the hell knows? We wont know the extent of the damage until he wakes up. _If_ he..." Lucky for Bobby, he had cut himself short.

Shaking his head back and forth, Dean glared the hell out of the windshield in front of him. "God, Bobby. Is this supposed to make me feel better? Cause you'd make a horrible school councilor."

Instead of the expected snide remark, Dean got a whack on the shoulder from Bobby's direction. The older man huffed. "Well I'm sorry I scared you, _sweetie_, but I'm not here to make you feel beter. You asked what the doctor said, and I told you what he said. Going on one of your self-pity trips isn't going to help Sam. So _snap out of it_!"

A slap in the face wouldn't have been more effective. Swallowing deeply, Dean forced himself to stop clenching his fists. "God Bobby, I'm sorry. It's just that..." He ran a hand over his face, sighing. "This wasn't Sam's fight. It was _mine_. Jane's vendetta was against me, and the truth is that I should have been the one in there. After everything I did... It was my fault. Sam didn't deserve this."

Old eyes scanned the highway, deep in thought. "Of course not, Dean. But like it or not, this is Sam's fight too. He's your brother Dean. Sam aint never going to just leave you alone. If thing's were the other way around and he'd made that deal, it'd be you in that back seat and him up here. God knows the kid tried enough times."

"What are you saying," Dean's eybrows slouched together in a v as he observed Bobby with confusion. "That he had it comming or something?"

This actually got a look out of the older man, and an angry one at that. "Did I say that? No! I just mean that..." Sighing, Bobby shrugged wildly for lack of better words. "You're only human, Dean. And you were in _hell_. You were backed into a tight corner and you took your only way out. I don't blame you for that, and Sam sure as hell doesn't either. If it were either one of _us_ in the hotseat, we would've made the same choice."

As he pretended to watch the scenery fly by outside, Dean strained his brain to think of a way to explain what was going on in his head... or not explain it. Things were so much easier before he went to hell. There was no gray area... just black and white. But not anymore.

"You don't know that..."

"Of course I do. Dean, _anyone_ and _everyone_ would have crossed that line eventually."

_No, not everyone._ It was with an abrupt realization that Dean halted his thoughts. He hadn't told Bobby (or Sam, for that matter) the truth about John. Either he had to tell the _whole_ truth, or none of it at all.

He cleared his throat. "You're... You're wrong."

Dean could feel Bobby's eyes on him, so he refrained from facing the front. "What?"

"You heard me."

"Of course I _heard_ you," Bobby's voice was starting to take that "shut up, cause you're freaking me out" tone to it, clearing up all doubts about whether Dean was scaring him or not. "But I was kind of hoping that you would elaborate a little bit."

Dean didn't want to tell him. He _really_ didn't. Bobby thought that he was just a good man in a bad situation, but if he knew that John hadn't made the same choice, he would have to realize otherwise. Dean wanted Bobby to think good of him, but John was Bobby's best friend... He deserved to know. Even if it cost him Bobby's respect. He took a deep breath in through his nose, as if about to dive into a cold lake. "I mean..." _Say it! Just get it over with!_ "I mean you're wrong. About me. About everything..." Suddenly feeling drained, Dean rested his forehead against the cold glass beside him. "Dad didn't cross that line. Ever. He wouldn't put anyone else through that, so he just... He didn't. And I did. So dont give me that shit about anyone and everyone."

For a minute, Bobby didn't say anything. Dean could feel a hot flush creeping up the back of his neck, but still refused to turn around in case the older man was watching him. When he closed his eyes, wet eyelashes flicked tears onto his nose that he didn't realize existed. It hurt to breathe.

"How..." Voice guarded, Dean could tell that Bobby was choosing his words very carefully. "How do you know? Are you sure?"  
Dean's forehead rubbed against the glass as he nodded softly. "Yeah... I'm sure. Alistair told me when he came back."

"He could have been lying."

Of course... Demons lie all the time. It would have been easy for Alistair to pull it off. But why lie about this? "No... He wasn't lying. I'm the one who broke the first seal, which means that dad didn't break. He was better man than that... and I wasn't."

"Your dad was... but you.." Bobby sighed, clearly stumped for better words. Dean was flattered that he was trying so hard, but at the same time he wished that Bobby could think of something to say to change things.

Dean nodded to himself softly. _And that was that. _ "It's okay Bobby... You don't have to say anything. I get it."

"Dean... Dean, look at me." Bobby's voice was softer than usual. "Please."

The cold window against Dean's face was too good of a safety blanket to want to let go of. He just wanted to go to sleep, pretend that none of this was happening. Dealing with what happened downstairs was hard enough on his own without having to get anyone else involved. Grudgingly he turned to face his old friend, noting that Bobby's eyes were just as wet - or more so - than his were.

"You need to understand something..." Voice gruff, Bobby's eyes crinkled around the corners. "Dean, I knew your father for a long time. I've seen him from every angle possible, and he _was_ a good man. But I've known you just as long, Dean. You and Sam... You are practically sons to me. And I've seen you make hard choices that even your father wouldn't have been able to make. You kept that family together, even when John and Sam were to wrapped up in hunting or college or their damn tempers to do it themselves. And God knows you've been there for _me_ when I've needed it."

Dean shook his head, looking at his hands. "But" -

"I aint done yet, boy!" Bobby raised his voice, and Dean automatically shut up. "I'm trying to tell you something, here." He frowned. "Look, I'm not justifying what you did. It was wrong and sick and you know better. But that was one bad decision out of a million good ones that you've made. And it doesn't change what I already made up my mind about years ago. You are still just as good - if not a better - man than your father was. It would do you some good to remember that." Out of nowhere, a hand squeezed Dean's shoulder for a minute, causing him to look up in surprise. "... I know you're hurting, son. But right now your brother needs 'ya. Now we'll help however we can, but don't you go givin' up on us. This family aint right without you."

Turning to observe the back seat, Dean wiped the wet spots under his eyes with the back of his hand. "You uh..." He cleared his throat, eager to break the monotony that the heart-to-heart had brought upon them. "You think he's gonna be okay?"

Bobby eyed Sam's still form in the rear-view mirror again solemnly. "I sure hope so. Brian is the best doctor on this side of South Dakota, at least. And he's not going to cause us any trouble either. If anyone can do Sam some some good, it's him."

"Good. Because if I'm going to be sticking around, Sam better damn well be sticking around with me."

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More to come! Please review! I will update as soon as I can!


	14. Chapter 14

**Thanks for waiting guys! :D I wrote this during exam week, so I hope that lets you know how much I love you! *hugs screen* Okay, enough of the mushy-stuff. Let's get to the story! **

"_Oh brother, I can't, I can't get through. _

_I've been trying hard to reach you, 'cause I don't know what to do. _

_Oh brother, I can't believe it's true. _

_I'm so scared about the future, and I want to talk to you. _

_Oh, I want to talk to you." _

_- Talk: Coldplay_

The sun had finally set by the time Bobby pulled into his salvage yard. It had been four hours, despite the extra thirty miles-per-hour they had added to the speedometer. Stopping to check on Sammy every half-hour was cutting their time short and at some point Dean had ended up sitting in the back with his little brother in order to keep himself from dying of worry. Sam hadn't woken up at all through the whole trip, but every once in a while he would moan under his breath or mumble something when he was moved around a lot. This worried Dean, but Bobby had assured him that being responsive to pain was a better sign than if Sam was completely comatose. The issue of now was how to get him in the house.

Bobby solved that problem for them, honking the horn loud enough to jostle Dean out of his stupor. In his arms, Sam twitched slightly at the sound.

"Don't worry man," Dean ran a hand through Sam's messy hair comfortingly as Bobby continued to honk the horn. "It scared me too. It's okay."

After a few honks, the front door few open and a skinny redhead in her late thirties or early forties came hurried out, followed by a burly bearded man in a white coat. They were carrying a stretcher.

_Oh, thank God._ Dean eyed the stretcher approvingly as the couple came outside. _We finally get a break, Sammy._

"Brian, thanks for coming…"Bobby got out of the car, and traded a few quick words with the couple outside. Dean didn't remember Bobby saying that the doctor was bringing someone – maybe she was the doctor's wife – but he didn't really care. If she was here to help, she was welcome.

Dean's door was opened, and he gave the people outside a brief nod before turning to his brother. He stuck his legs out of the car and maneuvered himself out of the door so that he was outside the Impala without dropping Sam, and stuck his hands under Sam's arms to keep a grip on him. Bobby and the doctor were right behind him with the stretcher. "Kay…" he tossed the doctor a quick look. "How are we going to do this?"

Dr. Davidson gestured to Bobby with a flick of the chin. "Bobby, put the end of the stretcher on the seat."

The older man did as he was told, and Dean pulled Sam across the canvas until his head met the end. Bobby grabbed the end again and they all moved into the house, Dean and the woman watching from all sides to make sure that Sam wasn't going to fall off.

"Through here…" The woman took the way once they were inside, and she lead them into the main room. On the floor there was a makeshift bed set out, made of what looked like every blanket in Bobby's house stacked one on top of the other until it was like a mattress. It was good thinking, because that way they wouldn't have to take Sam upstairs or try and get his lanky limbs to fit on the couch. To think that Sam would have a bed that fit him at all was comforting right now, and as he got lowered onto it, Dean saw that it was way longer than the couch would have been.

"How long has he been out?" The doctor was holding a silver stethoscope to Sam's chest – wow, this guy was prepared! – And frowning deeply.

"Four and a half hours," Dean butted in, kneeling on the other side of the "bed" helplessly. "He moans a bit, and once he muttered something. But for the most part he's been out. Doc, is Sam going to be okay?"

"Response to pain?" The doctor moved the stethoscope around a few times, his face pensive. "That's better than I had hoped. But he should be waking up by now…"

Well at least Bobby was right. That was something.

"Does you brother have asthma?" The doctor's question was so out-of-the-blue that it caught Dean off guard.

"Uh… no."

"Cystic Fibrosis?"

"No."

"What about allergies? Or anything like that?"

There was a bit of a pause, in which Dean started to really dislike the look of worry on the doctor's face.

"Is he a smoker or anything like" –

"No, no and no!" Dean shook his head angrily, getting frustrated with all the mysterious questions. "The only thing wrong with my brother is that he got electrocuted, and now he wont wake up. I think that's the main problem, here!"

"He doesn't have anything like that," Bobby's calm voice came from behind Dean. "Always been a healthy kid. No diseases, conditions, anything. And if he ever tried smoking I'd kill 'im."

Brian nodded to Bobby in thanks, before turning quickly to the woman standing nervously behind them. "Karen, where's the nebulizer?"

"In the car." There was a flash of crimson hair as the woman jolted to her feet. "I got it!"

It wasn't until now that Dean noticed that there was a stack of medical equipment on the floor beside them, and Brian pulled out a blood-pressure gouger. He wrapped it around Sam's bicep and squeezed the little pump, feeling Sam's pulse for any changes.

"Doc, fill me in." Dean snapped his finger's in front of the man's face impatiently. "I'm freaking out here, okay? How _is_ he?!"

"Low blood pressure…" The doc murmured under his breath, putting a few fingers to a vein in Sam's neck. "Enlarged neck veins…."

"What does that mean?!"

"He's going into shock, for one." The doctor listened to Sam's lungs again. "And it's heart-related. You can tell because the veins in his neck are sticking out like that." He pointed to Sam's neck, highlighting a fact that Dean had already noticed. "Electric-shock will do that. His lungs are congested and his blood pressure is low, but his heart is going like he's running a marathon. I haven't found any heart-murmurs yet, but I have a feeling" –

Karen interrupted their conversation when she brought a small machine into their view, and Dean stood up quickly to find them a plug-in. "What is that for?"

Brian Davidson grabbed the cord that Dean tossed across to him, and snapped it into the back of the little machine. "It's mainly used to treat asthma attacks, but it has other uses. It's for relaxing spastic airways."

_Spastic?_ Dean watched the doctor turn on the machine – it emitted a soft whirring sound that was hard on the ears – and strapped an oxygen mask to Sam's face. A visible gas escaped through two holes close to the nostrils, giving Sam an look that would have reminded him of Puff the Magic Dragon if he had had the time to consider it. The elastic cord on the back snapped a little bit on the back of Sam's head as he let it go, and Dean winced. Sam looked so feeble and powerless – chest barely moving, dark circles under his eyes, sweaty - that even that small movement seemed like it would hurt him. He didn't think he had ever seen his brother looking so fragile, not even as a kid. Someone who had a good four inches and twenty or thirty pounds on him should _not_ be looking fragile. Especially not Sam. Sam should _never_ look like this.

"Is…" Dean ran a hand over his falling hair, where the spikes had once been. "Is there, uh, something I can do?"

Davidson looked up at him under a pair of dark bushy eyebrows. "Do you know first aid at all?"

"Like the back of my hand," Dean answered without a second thought. "Our dad was in the corps."

"Good. Keep track of his pulse, would'ya? I haven't got enough hands to do all this myself."

Dean grabbed Sam's wrist carefully, grimacing when he noticed how cold and clammy they were. He moved his first two fingers into the inside of his wrist for a pulse. It didn't take longer than usual to find one, but it felt like years. It was a steady beat, but in every rest Dean felt like he wouldn't feel it again. Sam was _electrocuted_. And repeatedly. What if something was wrong with his heart? Brain had _said_ that he was going into heart-related shock… Did that mean…

"Should I see if I can find a space heater?" Karen kneeled down behind the group, her voice assertive. Brain turned to her with a frown.

"What the _hell _for?"

"Well if he goes into shock…" Karen raised an eyebrow, lifting one of Sam's limp hands into hers, probably noticing right away that they didn't feel right. "He should be warmed up. Maybe Bobby's got one stored up somewhere?" She looked to Dean implicatively.

Dean gestured over his shoulder with his empty hand, too distracted by his little brother's heartbeat to think about much else. "Dono, Go ask him."

Karen disappeared upstairs, calling Bobby's name. Dean couldn't help wondering where the hell Bobby had gone off too.

After rummaging through a small medical kit for a minute, Dr. Davidson pulled out a few basic medical tools and set them carefully on top of the canvas bag. Dean noticed that at some point, gloves had ended up on his hands. Had they been there the whole time?

The doctor tilted Sam's head gently to the side with both hands, frowned, and tilted it the other way. "Did he move anything at all when he woke up?"

Startled by the question, Dean strained his thought to remember the simple answer when suddenly his brain went black. _Err…_ "Yeah," He thought back to when they fell on the stairs. "He scratched at my arm and squirmed a little bit. But nothing really…"

"That's a good thing," Brian explained softly. "That mean's he's not paralyzed."

Something caught in Dean's throat, and he had to fight the urge not to cough. "_Paralyzed_?" Oh God, he hadn't even thought of that…

Seeing Dean's worry, the doctor gave him a small smile. "I'm just checking all the stops, son. Let's not get ahead of ourselves, okay?" When all Dean did was nod blankly, he went back to checking on Sam. He ran a finger over the vein that still seemed to be budged in Sam's neck, made a "tsk" noise in the back of his throat again.

Bobby stomped in with his arms around a dusty old machine in his arms, and as he set it down beside the TV he turned back to the group. "Give it to be straight, Brian. How's he doing?" Bobby pulled the cord out on the VCR, shoving the heater's plug-in in instead. The machine kicked in with a few groans and thuds.

"It's hard to tell." The doctor made room for Bobby to slide across the floor and kneel beside him. "I'd know what I was looking for if I knew what kind of electrical shock it was. What kind of equipment were you guys getting into?"

Dean paled when he realized that Davidson didn't know what had happened, and Bobby shot him a look that told him to both stay calm and to keep his mouth shut. "Doc there's uh… About that. There's something you still don't know…" Bobby didn't seem to know where to start. "This wasn't an accident. Sam was – we – we couldn't take him to the hospital because we aren't sure if we are still out of the woods. I thought it was best not to tell you, because… well…" He looked to Dean for help.

A shocked and horrified look gluing his frown in place, Davidson licked his lips uncertainly.

"You're saying that someone _did_ this to him?" Karen's appalled voice being a pitch higher than the men in the circle, it surprised all of them.

Were they doing this to Dean on purpose? _Of course, just drive the nail in. I'll stay still. Just drive the freaking nail in. _

"Bobby found out what kind of a machine it was," Dean interrupted so that he wouldn't have to sit and listen while Bobby explained what the doctor had wanted to know about who did this to Sam. "There was a scientist upstate who had some kind of electroshock crap stolen, and we traced it back to a warehouse in the last town we were in. She had used it on Sam, probably repeatedly. That's _all_ we know, okay?"

After watching Dean for a few seconds, Davidson nodded softly. "Electroshock therapy is administered through headgear. Was Sam wearing any when you found him?"

Bobby shook his head. "Nothing like that. There were these little needle-suction-cup-things under his collarbones, though. Do you think that could" –

"You can't administer electrical shock properly with needles… It would burn your skin and muscle tissue before the electricity got to the brain. That is why you are supposed to use headgear. The brain is only a few millimeters away."

"Look Brian, I'm just telling you what I know."

"I know." The doctor took a pair of scissors and cut Sam's shirt down the middle, making two more snips down the arms so that he could just get rid of it – not that there was much to get rid _of_ – and carefully poked at the small scars left behind from the strange needles that had been in his chest. He sighed. "I don't know what to tell you. No burns here… Are you sure he was actually electrocuted?"

There was nothing else it could have been. Dean could still see Sammy thrashing around behind his eyelids. Nothing else he knew of could make a man do that. "We're sure."

"Than the shock must have been administered some other way…" The doctor stopped to check Sam's pulse again – forgetting that Dean still had his hand on the inside of Sam's wrist – and then breathing. Suddenly he stopped, as if a light had gone off in his head. "Wait."

"What?!" Dean flashed his eyes towards the doctor quickly and impatiently, incase he had missed anything. Nothing had changed but the doctor's expression, now very animated.

"The scientist you mentioned wasn't Fredrick Maine, was it?" Brian's eyes were wide.

Dean looked from Bobby to Brain awkwardly. "I'm not sure…"

Bobby saved the day. "The very same. Why?"

Davidson looked to Bobby, his face reminding Dean of the way Sam looked when he got all worked up about something smart and scientific that Dean was never able to follow. "I've met him a few times. I read about his new invention in his report at the last conference we were in."

As wonderful as this nerd-fest sounded, Dean couldn't help wondering where this fit into the situation at hand.

_Oh you know the scientist who created the machine used to torture my brother? Oh great! Tell him to go to hell for me next time you're at a conference together, will you? You can do it over tea! _

Bobby saw the look on Dean's face – ready to throw something – and intervened. "But what does that have to do with Sam?"

"Either nothing or everything," Davidson shuffled closer to the upper side of the bed, causing Bobby to move out of the way, and carefully put his hand behind Sam's head. He moved his fingers around at the base of his neck in search of something. When he stopped, it was apparent that he had found it. The murmured curse was a bit of a giveaway also.

It was Bobby's turn to ask. "What?"

"I found it."

"Found _what_?"

Davidson grabbed Sam's left arm from Dean's grasp, puling it across Sam's chest and bending his left leg with the other hand. He pulled these limbs towards him, and Sam moved into what Dean recognized as the recovery position. Sam's back was now towards Dean. The suspense killing him, Dean pushed Sam's hair aside carefully to get a look at whatever the doctor had found. When he found it, his blood ran cold.

There was something stuck into Sam's spine.  
"I need by, uh…" Davidson hesitated. He didn't know Dean's name.

"Move 'yer but out of the way, Dean." Bobby gestured for Dean to join him on the other side so that the doctor could get through, and it took him a second to kick his mind into gear and get his limbs moving. Dean didn't get far, but hovered over Davidson's shoulder as the doctor gingerly grabbed the two ends of the contraption – it looked like a butterfly clip with needles on the ends – and pushed them towards each other slightly.

Sam's body jerked in response, his elbow moving towards his body, hand moving outwards, back curling inwards, and with the movement came a soft moan of pain. "Whoa, whoa, whoa…" Dean put a hand out for the doctor to stop, and the whole room's eyes widened in surprise. When the noise came again, Dean hurried round to Sam's front and kneeled down in front of him carefully. "Sammy?" He grabbed Sam's free hand – the one that wasn't tucked under his head for the recovery position – and squeezed it tightly.

Brownish-green eyes were barely visible underneath heavy eyelids, and even though the asthma-machine was loud, Dean could still hear Sam struggling for breath. "Mfft… Nnn…"

If that was supposed to mean anything to Dean, he didn't catch it. "Sorry man," Dean clenched the clammy hand in his again, aiming for some kind of response that wasn't in Martian. "You're going to have to do a bit better than that. Just open those baby-blues for me, alright?"

Of course, Dean knew that Sam's eyes weren't baby blue. They were somewhere in between green and brown and sometimes even grey. But he wasn't just being random. If anything, he knew a jest like that would be the kind of thing that would get Sam talking smack right back at him. He would take that any day, as long as Sam just talked _back_ at all. Right now, Dean would die for either.

His brother's forehead tightened in pain, but after a few more failed attempts at making words – one of them sounded suspiciously like "please" – Sam went silent. The hand crushing Dean's finger's was the only sign that Sam even knew that anyone was there.

"Can you keep him still?" Davidson requested quietly. "I need to get this out right away…"

The doctor's demand was given with the most sincere voice possible, but to Dean's ears he could have been asking to remove Sam's leg. Reluctant as he was to raise his hand up to Sam's shoulder, Dean made that move and crossed the line between "comforting" and "restraining". Even with half-awareness of what was going on, Sam seemed to feel it also. He flinched under Dean's hand, and when it tightened, his jaw clenched as if preparing for something. Dean noticed this with regret. "It's okay bro." Dean leaned forwards slightly, his voice softer in order to keep a private conversation slightly more restricted from the rest of the room. "You're okay. This'll be quick, alright?"

There was no answer. Of course not. Sighing, Dean gave the doctor a tiny nod to continue. Dean hadn't really expected anything to happen, and for a few seconds nothing did. But that idea went out the window when Sam's entire body tensed up without warning, like one jiant muscle spasm, and he tried to raise his free arm to release himself. Knowing full well that Sam could hurt himself if he moved around while having something pulled out of his spine, Dean pinned his arm it to the mattress. Of course Sam freaked out, probably as much as any semi-conscious person _could_ do, and it was with a heavy heart that Dean found himself practically leaning his full weight on top of the kid just to keep him in place.

"Got it," Brian's voice came eight days too late, and Dean was relieved to be able to stop pinning his brother to the floor. The doctor held up the small device, looking exactly like the butterfly clip that Dean had imagined – but pointier – and setting it aside gingerly. He looked up to Dean with hard eyes. "How is he doing?"  
Sam's hand had fisted in Dean's shirt during the struggle, and it was still there, holding on for dear life. The whimpers were just barely audible.

It felt like someone was driving a stake into Dean's chest, and a dull one at that. He frowned. "Just peachy."

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	15. Chapter 15

Once Davidson had finished his check-up on Sam – making sure breathing steadied out, putting him on oxygen and an IV, doing a blood test, and finally patching up any little cuts or bruises that he could find offhand – it was well past suppertime. The blood test had shown that Sam had been injected with both anesthetics and paralytics within the past twenty-four hours, but that it was alright to give him another shot of painkillers. Dean had insisted on this right away, of course, and it was a good thing that no one had objected. If Sam didn't get what he needed, none of them would get to eat. He would make sure of that.

It wasn't that Dean was ungrateful. Brian Davidson did everything he had been able to do at the time to help his brother, so Dean was in debt to him fully. Even Karen, for coming with and helping out. She could have stayed at home with the kids, ate dinner, watched "The Young and The Restless", but she had decided to come and help a complete stranger who had been injured. He owed her that, too. And if it wasn't for Bobby, Dean would never have _found_ Sam, let alone got him here alive. After all the stuff that man had suffered on their behalf, he kept coming back and sticking his neck out on the line for this family. Of course, Bobby was at the top of the list. Dean knew what these people had all done to help Sam. So no, he wasn't ungrateful. They had done everything they knew possibly could.

And yet, sitting on Bobby's couch, feet deliberately _off_ the table, pillow deliberately in the chair across the room rather than behind him, Dean still felt like he had to punish himself for this one. _He _was the one who hadn't done everything he could have. He didn't even know when it had started, but at some point he had just stopped being there for Sam like he should have. If Dean had been there for Sam, he figured, Sam wouldn't have ended up in this situation in the first place. It just went to show everything that Dean had done, or _not_ done. And most of the time, Dean had just been sticking his toe over the line. There had been the "little things", like making Sam ride shotgun everywhere they went, while they listened to _Dean's _choice of music, and _Dean _chose a hotel, and _Dean _took first choice of bed and first shower and set the alarm time to whatever time he wanted. And of course, _Dean_ always took the lead during a hunt. And told Sam where to stand, where to shoot, how to do the job that he was already perfect at. And then when it was all over, Sam listened to _Dean_ make smart-ass comments about the hunt while _Dean _drove to a new hunt that _Dean _had chosen out. Now that he thought about it, Dean realized that if it had been the other way around, he would be pissed. How could Sam stand it? A grown man didn't need anyone telling him where to sit, what to listen to, where to sleep. An experienced hunter didn't need anyone shoving him into the role of sidekick, or taking credit for his work. So why did Sam put up with it?

Because it hadn't "meant anything". Sam knew – or at least Dean hoped that he knew – that while Dean was naïve to his actions, he wasn't ill-intentioned. He had grown up leading Sam around because he was younger, so he only gave Sam those secondary positions by habit. None of that stuff was supposed to hurt anybody.

But then again, Dean knew that the real killers weren't the "little things" at all. Dean had been obviously crossing the line when he sat back and let John tell Sam that if he was going to college, that he should never come back. And when he told Sam, straight-faced, that it was too late to make it up to dad after his death, that was uncalled for. Or after Sam had fount out what John had told Dean about killing Sam if he went darkside, Dean made it obvious that he was worried that the rumors might be true.

_"Maybe we should take a break for a little while. That way we can make sure…" _

_ "What? That I don't turn evil? That I don't turn into some kind of a killer?"  
"I never said that!"_

Dean hadn't said it. But then again, he hadn't denied it. He could have easily said "No Sam, I don't think you're going to become a killer," but that would have been a lie. Dean hadn't even been sure enough of the one person that he knew better than anybody to say that he could trust him. And the look on Sam's face had confirmed it.

Even after seeing that broken look on Sam's face again and again, he still had gone further over the line. When Sam had decided to trust Ruby instead of shooting her at sight, Dean hadn't stopped to wonder why. Instead, the first thing that came out of his mouth was "Are you feeling alright?". And it went further. He left Sam alone with the knowledge that he had put Dean in hell. And the second Dean had gotten back, he had jumped down Sam's throat, accusing him of making a deal himself. And of using his powers. Even though Sam _had_ been using his powers, Dean had no reason to think that he would be. So why would he even ask? Maybe for the same reason that he had told Sam that if he didn't know him, he would hunt him. That Dean, other hunters, the angels, and even God were all against what he was doing. That he was too tall, too smart, too sensitive, too good with computers, tried too hard to be normal, couldn't drive, had no taste in music, wasn't allowed to have friends, needed more friends, fought too much with dad, and didn't put up enough of a fight with the rest of the world. That he wasn't trustworthy, slept with monsters, sided with monsters, was going to go darkside, and that even though everything that happened while Dean was in hell was top secret information, what Sam was doing during that time needed to be put under a microscope. And that didn't even include all the words or implications that had "slipped" into their conversations that had been uncalled for. Like trying to say that maybe, just maybe, Sam connected to the big-bad of the week a little too much. Or calling him a freak. And Dean knew better than that.

So it really wasn't that unexpected that they had been fighting, that night that Sam went missing. Dean didn't even remember what it was about. But just as always, he was accusing Sam of something, and Sam was pissed as hell for always being in the defendants-chair. And it wasn't that unexpected that Sam had gotten sick of it and left, or that Dean hadn't gone after him. Or that it took him four hours to start worrying about where Sam might be, even though going out for a stroll a few hours earlier would have prevented his little brother from getting abducted.

There were so many things that Dean had done wrong that had lead up to this moment. It wasn't _just_ what he had done to Jane to make her want revenge – of course, that was the bitch of the bunch - but if Dean hadn't pushed Sam over the edge, he never would have left. And Jane never would have had her chance.

Dean changed his mind… everyone _else_ could eat.

It wasn't their fault.

"Dean!" Bobby's voice barked at him from the kitchen-area. "Come on in here for a minute."

Grumbling, Dean looked left towards the noise. Hadn't he just decided that he _wasn't_ going to eat? "Bobby, I'm busy!"

"My arse, you are! Now get 'yer ass in here, before I make you."

With a slow, tired motion, Dean leaned into his hand so that his fingers ran over his hair. He pulled himself to his feet grudgingly, giving Sam a good look before obeying Bobby's orders. He crossed into the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe. "What?"

Bobby had his back to Dean, and was cutting up ham on a copping board with a huge knife. He gestured with his head to a piece of paper sitting on the counter beside him. "I've got a list of stuff we need. You and Karen are going to go pick it up."

There wasn't a request to be heard. Not even a please. Dean was, apparently, _going_ to do this. He sighed. "Bobby, it doesn't take two people to get groceries" –

"Yes it does." Bobby kept chopping, not giving sway to the moodiness in Dean's voice. " 'lot more than Karen can carry on her own. Especially since you are also getting more medical supplies from a few towns over."

"Than why don't you do it?"

Bobby held the chopping block in one hand, using the knife to scrape the meat onto a small plate. "Because I'm actually doing something. I'm cooking, and you're not."

Dean huffed. "Bobby, I've been cooking for Sam since I was seven. I can do it."

"Ever made Courdon-Blu?"

In all honesty, he didn't even know what that was. Or if Bobby had just made that name up to confuse him. "Well I'm sure I can read a recipe" –

"No you can't!" Bobby set the knife down on the counter firmly, his shoulders tense. After a few seconds, he turned around to face Dean. His face was tense too. "Can't you just do what you're told, for once?! I'm sick of you bringing trouble here!"

It was like someone had sent out a slap to the face his way. For a minute, Dean couldn't say anything.

Bobby sighed, visibly drooping. "Look, Dean" –

Dean realized that his mouth was hanging open, and he closed it with a crack. "Don't worry about it."

"I'm just…" Bobby shrugged tiredly, looking old. "This whole situation has got my insides all tied up, you know? I'm not thinking straight. I didn't mean" –

"It's fine." Dean nodded more firmly than was needed, his eyes just left of Bobby's face. "I'm fine."

"I really _do_ need your help. Some of that equipment is kind of heavy, 'specially for such a tiny woman. Just give her a hand, alright?" Bobby pursed his lips, frowning at the ground for a minute. "And I also think it would do you some good to get out of here a while. Just for a few hours… That's all I'm asking. And I know you don't want to leave Sam right now, but that's exactly why you should. Sam doesn't need to wake up to a brother who's driven himself insane by his bedside. Brain is here, I'm here, Sam will be fine."

Bobby had covered all the bases, and Dean knew it. He really didn't want to go, but the truth was that he had no other choice. So knowing that he had no other option, and reaching forwards for the sheet, Dean gave Bobby a curt nod before leaving the room. This short discussion had taught him two things. First of all, that Bobby was hurting just as much as Dean was right now. And second of all, that he blamed Dean just as much as Dean blamed himself.

**Hey guys! I wanted to treat you all by getting an update up as SOON as possible! :D I hope you guys liked this one. PLEASE REVIEW!**

**WARNING! SPOILERS FOR NEXT CHAPTER: **

**-In the spirit of Christmas, I thought I'd give you guys a break and hint at what will happen next…. While Bobby is home alone, something unexpected happens. Think optimistic, guys. :P **


	16. Chapter 16

**I just finished my final exams (sigh of relief). I must say, that you guys should all have a lot of respect for Sam and taking Law in college. It is HARD! But anywho… I can FINALLY get back to doing what I love… Writing! :D Sorry for making you wait so long for this, but I hope you enjoy. **

**Now, back to the show…**

**XXXXXXXXXXXX **

In a grudging matter, Bobby sensed more than watched "his oldest" trudge out of the kitchen. He didn't have to be looking to see Dean's hesitant look back at the older man as he left, nor the ten seconds he spent crouched in front of Sam's bed. He heard Karen join Dean at the door, and together their departure made the house a much quieter place. Bobby's hand tightened on the handle of the kitchen knife in his hand subconsciously, unaware of his actions or the way that they would look to an outsider.

Bobby hadn't meant to be so harsh on Dean. He hadn't. Maybe he was getting old and senile after all – or _more_ old and senile – but he couldn't help feeling that while he loved these boys to death, they could both drive a saint to drink and steal on a good day. Why couldn't Dean just back off every once in a while? It was nice to see him looking after his little brother, but Sam wasn't going to benefit from Dean hovering right now. Besides, Bobby was here. Dean seemed to forget that he wasn't the only one capable of taking care of Sam. Not that he _blamed_ Dean for being stubborn when it came to protecting his kin however; because he knew that those boys had been two half's of the same person ever since Sam had crawled out of their mother's cursed womb. Maybe if she had been alive to keep John from dragging them across the country from hunt to hunt, they wouldn't be this screwed up. It was harsh, sure, but Bobby knew it to be true. Sam and Dean didn't know how to do anything but hunt, and while they did it it was also the thing that caused them so many problems. God, Sam was lying unconscious on his living room floor. Dean had not so long ago told him things about hell that he hadn't wanted to know. Anyone who would be willing to stand up and state that the Winchester brothers weren't messed up was either slow, stupid or a lying physiatrist. It didn't seem like that long ago that he had gotten the news that Sam was getting a Stanford education, that Dean was working as a mechanic upstate somewhere so he could date a girl for more than two nights at a time. What had been her name? Christy? Kathy? Cassie? Either way, she was long gone. So was Sam's own girlfriend Jessica. And his Stanford education. If only that yellow-eyed bastard hadn't dragged Sam and Dean away from their own little corners of normal, they would have just gotten away from this life. And they wouldn't be here. Sam was physically broken, Dean had self-esteem issues, and Bobby was literally too old for this.

Brian's approach must have escaped his ears, because when a hand was laid on Bobby's arm he jumped. "Whoa there…" Brain tightened his hand around Bobby's wrist, keeping the knife at a safe position away from any limbs or torsos. "Ease up your horses, Bobby."

"Sorry, Brian." Bobby's shoulders drooped as he gave the other man a tired half-smile. "I didn't hear you coming."

"Bobby," Brian forcefully but assertively maneuvered the knife from Bobby's still-clenched hand without making a fuss about it. "When was the last time you got any sleep?"

"I…" Not surprised that he found it virtually impossible to stretch his memory that thin, Bobby shrugged. "Who knows."

Brian's face held a bit of light humor as he set the knife down on the counter. "Somehow I get the feeling you've been chasing after these boys since they had acne," he said sympathetically.

_You have no idea_. "Since they had power-rangers, actually."

"Well nevertheless, you still need to get your sleep" –

"Oh cut the crap, Brian." Bobby was surprised at how much of an old man he sounded like when his voice came out as a growl. "You and I both know that you didn't come over here to discuss my sleeping habits. Spit it out."

Nodding slowly, Brian turned to lean back on the edge of the counter. He frowned. "It's nothing specific, Bobby. But we need to talk… about Sam. I figured that this would be a good time since his brother wasn't here. Not to overstep my boundaries or anything, but I can tell that this would sound better coming from you than me."

Bobby removed his ball cap and flattened what he had left of hair. "Jesum, Brian, what now?"

"Well I don't know if you've ever been in this situation before…" Brian seemed to be having a hard time getting his words together, while at the same time sounding like a school councilor who had come to give out free hugs. "But when electrocution victims survive, afterwards there are usually… issues."

"Medical issues, you mean."

Brian pulled awkwardly on his white coat, which looked to small for him. "Yes, exactly. At this point there is no way to tell what will occur in Sam's case, since we can't hook him up to an M.R.I. or any other machine that could pinpoint a problem, so for now all we have is guesses."

"Like what?"

"Electrocution damages the heart and lungs instantly." Brian said it almost harshly, although maybe that was just the way that it sounded to Bobby's ears. It must have been; Brian was never harsh. "Now if Sam's as healthy as you've told me, he won't be as bad as someone who smoked or had a condition. Even someone who was unfit. But I know for a fact that there's going to be some damage there. I don't know how much, but it's there. That's why I started Sam on the oxygen right away. It wasn't hard to see right when you brought him in that Sam was having trouble breathing. Now I'm sure that'll get better with time, but how much I can't say."

Bobby tried to stay professional about the while situation until the doctor got through his rant, but it was hard not to dwell on the fact that Sam wouldn't just walk out of this. He had expected as much, but still…

"Heart and lung damage usually go eye-to-eye." Brian seemed to have his grove back, although he was watching Bobby with a careful eye. "Electric shock stops the heart when it's administered, so it throws the heart off of its regular rhythm, Other than the obvious problems that that could cause, it also stops oxygen flow throughout the body. That could cause any number of other things, like organ failure, muscle or tissue death, nerve damage…"

Jesus… he didn't want to hear this. Bobby tightened his hands on his trucker cap nervously.

"…muscle spasms, even brain damage" –

"_Brain damage_?" Out of all the words that had come out of Davidson's mouth until now, none had scared him quite as much as the sound of that last one. "Why in the sam-hell didn't you come tell me this earlier?"

"I'm telling you _now_." Davidson met Bobby's eyes without backing down, but he saw the sympathy locked up in there somewhere. If anything, that was worse than not caring.

Bobby looked to his hands, which were wringing his cap tightly between them. "What 'r the chances of, you know… _that_ happening?"

There was a hesitation again, and Davidson was back to being slow with his words. But the determination was still there. "If I promised you anything, Bobby, I'd be lying. Never been outside of the office, if you know what I mean. I'm used to having the facts given to me on charts. But in this case, I'd say not very high. And even if it did happen, there are so many different kinds of brain damage to think about. Hell, you can be considered brain-damaged after a concussion, doesn't mean you're a vegetable. If it did, half the American population would be screwed just by joining organized sports. Brain damage can be anything from your IQ dropping 60 points to loosing the use of your legs. Or it could be as tiny as forgetting your keys every once in a while. So no, I don't know what's going to happen to Sam. We can cross that road when we get there, Bobby, and when it comes to _that,_ we probably wont have to cross it at all."

"Then why 'r you telling me all this?"

"Because-" Brian cut himself off, running a hand over his mouth tiredly. "Because I don't know anything about Sam Winchester, just that he's important to you. And I owe you one, so I'm going to damn-well do everything I can to make sure this kid gets through this as best as we can make it. But with or without my help, he could wake up in almost any state that is medically possible, and I want you to be aware of that." Turning to face Bobby slightly, Brian's face was grim. "Look… We've seen a lot of positives so far. Sam can move his own limbs; he responds to pain, he can make words on his own. I haven't heard many of them, but one word is enough. You and I both know that he's not going to wake up a vegetable, physically or mentally. What we _don't_ know, is what he _is_ going to wake up with. So what I need from you and Dean, is some cooperation and patience, alright?"

Bobby had to be coaxed into nodding, and while only minutes ago he had felt old as a mountain, he now felt like a little kid. He pulled his hat between his fingers for a few more minutes, before sighing and covering up his bald spot with it. "So when do you think Sam's going to wake up? Be honest doc, Dean's not around to hear you."

"Like I know? Could be tonight, could be three weeks from now. I'm going to be hopeful here, for the sake of doing so, but I recommend that you and Dean take him to a hospital tomorrow if he hasn't woken up by then. Scratch that, even if he _does_ wake up by then I'd like to see him looked over. I know you told me it was unsafe, but…" Davidson breathed in deeply, and when he exhaled his cheeks blew out like a puffer-fish just enough to be noticeable. "I don't know anything about this monster stuff, but the water seems pretty clear to me. If anything was coming, it should've come by now. A hospital sounds pretty good to me."

Nodding, Bobby felt a dire urge to reach for the knife again. He wasn't even sure why, but it was something that somehow felt right. Maybe it was a good thing that Brian had taken it from him. "I agree, Brain. I was rootin' to take him this afternoon when we found him, but Dean was seeing shadows on every corner. Better safe than sorry, I guess. But I'm still not sure we made the right choice…"

"There's no way to know at this point in time," Brian checked his watch with a grimace. "But it's about time to check up on him again. You want to come?"

Bobby huffed. "You think I'd rather be cooking?" He was the first one out of the kitchen, and feeling the strain of old muscles on old bones, he knelt down on the floor beside "his youngest".

Brian Davidson knelt down on Sam's other side, picking up his stethoscope from his pile of health toys and putting them in his ears. He pulled back the heating blanket that they had found in a back closet to warm Sam up, and Bobby couldn't help reaching out to touch the blanket to see how warm it was. Since Sam's shirt had been unbearable when they found him, they had just cut it off. Hopefully the blanket's wires wouldn't burn his exposed skin. The blanket was only warm, not hot, so it didn't seem like it could be that harmful.

Davidson put the stethoscope to Sam's chest, and Bobby almost jumped when he saw Sam jerk back from the cold metal, a low moan in his throat giving away his discomfort. "Sam?" Bobby grabbed Sam's wrist and shook it a bit, hoping to lure the young man out of his subconscious. "Come on boy, nap time's over. You with us? Come on, Sammy."

"Mmmnnn…" Sam shook his head back and forth once, his forehead scrunched up in pain. By the way his eyes were squeezed shut, it looked like he didn't want to wake up. Bobby kept shaking his arm, and after a few seconds he blinked, shook his wrist in Bobby's, and blinked again. And then his eyes opened. "Wha…?"

Bobby tilted his head down a bit, trying to catch Sam's eye. It was hard to tell if he had Sam's attention yet, because when Sam's eyes were open, they didn't exactly scream _mentally conscious_. The kid looked pretty out of it. But Bobby had time to wait. "You know where you are, son?"

There was a little more blinking, whimpering and scrunching of the facial muscles before Sam's head tilted and his eyes found Bobby's face. He frowned, somehow managing to look like a little kid – height and muscles aside – who had waken up from a bad dream and still had no clue where he was. "…'obby?"

"Right-o, Sam." Bobby gave him the biggest smile he could muster, squeezing his hand tight. "How are you feeling?"

Sam's eyes moved away from Bobby's face to scan his surroundings. "Ygehem?"

"Say that again, son?"

Sam raised a hand tiredly, pulling the oxygen mask from his face. "You get 'em?" His words were one huge breath, and if Bobby hadn't known the kid for so long he probably wouldn't have caught what was supposed to have been said. Not that he understood it.

"Got who?"

Another deep breath, this one looking like it hurt. " Jane 'n dea'..."

Hmmm… Jane and Dean? Bobby couldn't really think of a reason why Sam would pair those two in a sentence together at all, but he figured that Sam was just confused. He couldn't exactly hold being exhausted over Sam's head right now. "Jane's dead," Bobby answered softly. "She 'aint gonna hurt you no more, son. And Dean's okay. He's not here right now, but he's fine. You don't have to worry about anything. You're safe here with me, alright?"

There was a long pause, during which Bobby couldn't help wondering whether Sam processed anything he just said. "…kay…"

Bobby scratched his beard for a moment, thinking about his talk with Davidson. Internal injuries? Muscle death? Brain damage? God only knew what was wrong with Sam right now. Just because he was awake – or somewhat awake – didn't mean that he was out of the woods. They had to cover all the stops. "Sam?" Bobby shook Sam's arm again when his eyes started drifting closed, an expression of pain on his face. "Stay awake Sam, just for a minute. Are you alright?"

Sam's eyes were still closed. "…hurts…"

Well go figure. Bobby wasn't surprised to hear it, but that didn't mean he wasn't any more disheartened by it. "Where, Sammy?" He made a real obvious swing of the arm in the doctor's direction, although Sam didn't seem to follow it. "See the doctor here, he's gonna give you something to help with that" – he gave Brian a look which told him his intentions, and the man started riffling through his bag – "but we need to know _where_ it hurts. You think you can do that for me, Sam?"

Sam held the mask back to his nose for a few seconds, the uneven rise and fall of his chest standing out for the first time. He nodded. The mask was lowered to his chin, creating just enough room for Sam to mumble something unintelligible about his chest, his head and his back. Bobby, although he had tried otherwise, didn't understand much of what the young man was saying, and in the end decided that he could have figured out all that on his own and that making Sam talk was just going to make things worse.

"Okay, Sammy…" With a motion of his hand he hushed the boy. "Calm down, we're gonna fix it."

"Just a second here," Davidson stuck the point of a needle into a little vial, and when it was filled he flicked the end a few times.

The noise must have caught Sam's attention, because for the first time he looked over in the doctor's direction. A weird look flashed across his face, and he sat up slightly, scrambling backwards desperately on his elbows, "N-no, no n-needles. P-Please!"

"Whoa, whoa." Bobby leaned forwards quickly and grabbed Sam's shoulders. "Hold 'yer horses, Sammy. It's okay. You're okay." His old hear nearly broke in two when the young man buried his face in his shirt. It brought to mind when Sam was real little, and John used to leave the boys behind when a hunt didn't seem safe to take them on. Back when Sam was still little enough to believe in monsters – even before he knew about hunting – he would always find someone to hug after a nightmare or a scare. That person was usually Dean, but whenever big brother wasn't in sight Bobby was always the protector of choice. "Make them go away, unca' Bobby," he used to whisper, hiding his face in the older man's jacket. That had been over twenty years ago, but Bobby was still reminded of the little guy who he used to babysit. Sam wasn't anywhere close to little anymore, but when Bobby patted the boy's – man's – head softly he felt like the bigger one for the first time in a _long_ time. "No one's going to hurt you anymore, son. I promise. It's okay." How had he made the monsters go away last time? Bobby could barely remember. He wished that Dean were here, with that odd connection of his with Sam. Dean didn't even seem to do anything half the time. Just his presence was enough. But Dean wasn't here, and Bobby was the best thing left. He barely even knew Sam anymore, it seemed. But he still had to try. "Sammy, you with me?" He ran a hand over Sam's gangly hair comfortingly, his voice quiet.

Sam nodded in reply.

"You have a lot of drugs in your system right now, Sam. And you're hurting." Bobby kept his voice as soft as he could, like he was talking to the little kid that he remembered. "All this is is some painkillers to help you sleep it off, alright. Just painkillers. That's all. I promise."

Sam shook his head a fraction, although Bobby could feel the tension and exhaustion radiating off his body. The poor kid was terrified.

Bobby tightened his grip on Sam's shoulder encouragingly. "You're always safe here, you know that. I'm here to keep watch now, son. You're safe. Just let me help, alright?"

There was no reply, but Bobby noticed that after a few seconds that Sam had his eyes squeezed shut. He looked down and saw that Davidson was already pulling the needle out of his arm. Sam relaxed almost instantly.

"Atta boy," he patted Sam's arm again. "Atta boy, Sammy." He waited a few seconds until the young man seemed to fall into unconsciousness – again – and he laid him back down on the fake mattress again. With a heavy sigh, he pulled the blanket back across Sam's torso.

Davidson clicked his tongue against his teeth softly, and leaned back on his heels until he was also sitting on his but. "I 'otta tell you Bobby, it just breaks my heart. I can't imagine the kind of person who would do a thing like this."

Bobby watched Sam for a few moments, making sure that he was really asleep. That he was still breathing. That he was alive. "Sam's like a son to me," he gruffed out quietly. "Dean too. You have no idea what these boy's have been through. Makes me start to think that old folks like you and me could tap dance in comparison."

Brian nodded in agreement, pursing his lips and watching their sleeping companion also. "I want you to know, that when you take him in to the hospital tomorrow – or today – or whenever… I want you to know that I'll take care of it. Don't bother with the fake credit cards. I'll get you through insurance and I'll cover the costs of any treatment he needs."

Touched, Bobby turned to his friend in surprise. "God Brian, I have money. I can" –

"But not much. I know that as well as anybody." Brian raised an eyebrow tiredly. "Hunting doesn't exactly come with a retirement plan, now does it? Save your money for the things you need. I can do this."

"It's…" He didn't even want to think it. "What if it's a lot of money? We don't even know what's wrong with him yet, let alone what he needs. I can't let you do that."

"I owe you, remember?" Brian moved his eyes back to Sam. "Besides, this isn't about money. It's principle. I make a hell of a lot of money treating chicken pox and delivering babies, and good people like you folk who risk your lives in this way get jack squat? I got into this business to help people, but I could never do what you do. People like you and Sam save people like me, so let me return the favor." When he saw that Bobby wasn't quite convinced, he cleared his throat softly. "Bobby, I'm not asking for your permission. If you bring fake credit cards into my hospital, they will be denied. This is the only way I can help. So let me."

Starting to feel the strain on his back from sitting for the first time, Bobby was reminded of his previous dilemma of feeling too damn old. He sighed. "Alright. But if you're going to be sticking around, there's something that you need to do."

"And what is that?"

Bobby's eyes scanned the man's attire, and couldn't help feeling that Sam's reaction was called for. "Loose the white coat."


	17. Chapter 17

Dean looked out from the passenger's side window to the woman who sat beside him, her crimson hair loosely tied back and her pretty green eyes lightly rimmed with little lines at the corners, the only real sign of her age. He had decided that since Bobby had sent him away to from Sam so that he could calm down, than he would try his hardest to think about something else for a while. Not that it was working, but at least he had calmed down a little bit. Now he just watched Karen with curiosity, feeling a sense of oddity about the whole situation – nervousness about Sam aside – that felt close to vertigo. The passenger's seat was an odd place to be. Giving up the wheel, letting his foot slide off the pedals and his eyes of the gage, meant that he was giving up control. If he sat on the right side of the car, he couldn't speed up or slow down to control when they would get to their destination, he couldn't swerve to miss an oncoming obstacle, he couldn't do _anything_! How could Sam stand it? To be honest, he couldn't understand how Sam could just sit back and Dean tell him what to do all day. Hell, the kid was capable of just about anything. Dean knew pretty well that if Sam really wanted it, he could be living in style. With his brains and ambition, he could have any job he wanted (if he hadn't decided to drop out of university and hunt with Dean). If he actually remembered that women existed and that he was young and good-looking, he could have any women in sight (but for some reason, he let Dean be the player). When he wanted to, he could kick anyone's ass (yes, even Dean's). But yet, Sam let Dean drive so often that he actually felt _uncomfortable_ without his hands on the wheel. He let Dean – in a way – drive his _life_. And he was perfectly comfortable with it. Sam had never doubted Dean's ability to drive, nor had he doubted Dean's ability to make decisions. But where did that leave Sam? Sitting in the passenger's seat was… scary. It really was. Dean didn't get it.

Karen must have caught him looking, because she tilted her head in his direction in curiosity. Dean realized that he must have been glaring without noticing it.

"So Dean… You getting bored?" Karen's voice wasn't girly or needy like the young feminine tones that he was used to hearing, or necessarily motherly like Ellen's or his mother's voices had been, but almost somewhere in between. Almost as if she was talking with him eye-to-eye, at his own level. That didn't happen very often. "I really appreciate you coming out all this way with me," she pushed a little more, her eyes only straying back to the road casually enough to see where she was going. "I know it's a long drive."

_Long? Honey, you haven't seen roads like I have._ "It's not long." Dean gave her a forced smile, knowing that she was trying to be polite. "And you don't have to thank me. I'm not really helping you, you and your husband are helping Sam. That's pretty much helping me."

"I guess it is." Karen gave him a little smile – okay, maybe she was a little bit motherly in her own way – and seemed to gage him with her soft eyes. "And it's no trouble, really. This is my job."

If anyone else had dismissed helping Sam as part of a job, Dean would have been offended. But the _way_ Karen said it, the look on her face when she said it, spoke volumes. He could understand what she meant by _job_. Saving people wasn't something you had to do because your paycheck or your reputation depended on it, it was something that you did because you just _had_ to. Under no one's jurisdiction but your own. When you could spare an innocent life, it didn't matter what it took. You did it so that you could look at yourself in the morning.

Dean looked back to the window briefly, trying to keep himself distracted by the greenery outside. "So what are we picking up, anyway?"

Karen gestured to the backseat, where a folded white piece of paper was half sticking out of her purse. Dean hesitated for a second before going for it, but Karen didn't show any concern for his hands near her stuff. He opened the sheet, and saw some messy doctor-like scribbles listing groceries, Sam's blood-work, five or six different kinds of antibiotics, painkillers, and a portable ventilator machine. There were other things listed, but Dean had no clue what they were.

"Is all this stuff for Sam?" Dean cleared his throat awkwardly, holding up the sheet before him.

Karen gave it a brief glance before nodding. "That it is, Dean. Why do you ask?"

"Well it's, uh… This is a lot of stuff." Pulling the sheet back to his own face again, Dean bit his bottom lip anxiously. "Do you really think he'll need all this?"

There was a brief pause as Karen took a left-hand turn, and Dean realized that they had entered town. "No, it's not that. Brian just feels that it's important to take precautions. And since we're coming all this way, it's good to stalk up on a lot of useful things that he might possibly need. And I agree."

Karen speaking so matter-of-factly about this threw Dean off guard. She seemed so cool and calm about all this. "Oh."

Karen's pick-up swerved a little bit as she made a wide turn into a parking space, and Dean looked up to see that they were in the staff parking-lot of a hospital. She put it in park and cut the engine, shoving the key into the pocket of her sports-jacket. As Karen opened the door and went to lean out Dean shot forward and grabbed her elbow suddenly, causing her to turn back in surprise. "Dean?"

"I… uh…" Realizing how creepy he was being, Dean let go of Karen's arm. He cleared his throat again. "I just want to thank you for, you know, doing all this. You and Brian… You don't know us, but you're doing this anyways. So thanks for that."

As Dean talked, Karen's face gradually lit up with that maternal smile that said everything that needed to be said. Then she winked. "Don't mention it, honey. Now can we go?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Brian and Bobby finished eating around six, and feeling extra-stepford, Bobby actually went as far as to fill the sink with soapy water. "I'll clean up," Brian offered, standing up from his chair and rubbing his beer gut appreciatively. "God Bobby, you cook like that every day and I'd even give you a lap dance."

Huffing his disproval of that joke, Bobby threw the dish towel at his friend's face. "Eww. Thanks for ruining my ambitions of running Hells Kitchen someday."

"Any time, old man." Brian flicked the towel at Bobby as he walked past, and it struck the side of his thigh.

"Son of a" – Turning long enough to give the good doctor a very non-gracious hand gesture, Bobby laughed as he made his way into the living room. He couldn't help smiling at Brian's obvious attempts to cheer him up, and was somewhat impressed to think that – even for a minute – it was working.

"Don't thank me for doing dishes or anything!" Brian mumbled loud enough for Bobby to hear as he left.

When Bobby entered the living room, he tossed a non-moving Sam a brief curious glance before heading to the couch. But before he sat down he did a double-take; Sam's eyes were open.

"Sam!" He hurried down to the make-shift bed, kneeling down beside his youngest carefully. "How long've you been up?"

The man's eyes moved to Bobby's after a moment, and he was relieved to see that they were clear this time. Sam seemed uneasy, but Bobby's appearance seemed to settle him down a bit. He pulled his oxygen mask to the side, his forehead creasing. " 'while."

_Oh_. Bobby bit the inside of his cheek, wondering why the hell he spent almost an hour in the kitchen without checking on Sam. "Geez Sam, I'm sorry. You should've called for me." He realized then that Sam might not have been _able_ to call for him, which was a scary notion. _Every five minutes, Bobby! Check him every five damn minutes! _

Voice low and airy, but still there, Sam huffed. "Y're eating."

The fact that Sam wasn't in the least bit pissed at him for not checking right away made Bobby more upset with himself, and he felt an almost youthful-feeling flush of embarrassment across his cheekbones. He couldn't imagine waking up confused and injured with no one around. Now that Bobby thought about it, Sam did seem to be shaking. "You hungry, Sam? We've got chicken courdon-bleu in the fridge and there's groceries coming."

Looking like eating didn't appeal to Sam in the least, he shook his head slightly, bringing the mask back to his mouth for a bit. He seemed to almost sag into the pillows, like he would when he was really little and he got sick while in Bobby's care.

"You feeling any better, son?" Bobby laid a hand across Sam's forehead, noting that it wasn't nearly as cool and clammy as before. "Still hurtin'?"

Nodding, Sam's forehead moved in Bobby's hand.

"Where?"

Sam took a few breaths from the mask before speaking right into it. " M' chest feels weird…"

"Weird _how_?"

"Uh…" Looking for the right words, Sam took a moment to get another breath in. " 'eavy. L-Like somethin's on it."

"Sam, the doctor's in the other room. I think we could have him come in and take a better look at you."

It was hard to tell because Sam's mouth was covered by the mask, but Bobby could have sworn that he winced. His eyes darted to the side for a second, and his brows moved closer together. There was an uncomfortable silence. "I-I, uh…" It was obvious that Sam was uncomfortable with the situation, and he knew Sam well enough to recognize embarrassment and fear written on his features.

"No one's going to make you do anything you don't want to do, alright?" Bobby nodded assertively, trying to give Sam a sense of control. "I promise. He will just want to ask you some questions about how you're feeling and check out anything that you point out to him. I'll stay right here with you, okay?"

Sam's jaw tensed, but he nodded. With a quick squeeze of his arm, Bobby stood. "Be right back." He headed into the kitchen.

Brian had his back to the door, with his hands elbow-deep in soapy water. He was humming something that sounded suspiciously like The Beetles to himself, and when Bobby came up behind him he started slightly. The man's hearing probably wasn't what it used to be, Bobby figured.

"Sam's awake," Bobby murmured in a soft voice – Sam's hearing was just fine, after all – and Brian's eyebrows shot up.

"Really? How's he doing?"

Leaning against the counter beside Brian, Bobby rested his elbows on the worn surface. "He's still in pain, but he seems to know where he is this time. But he's pretty spooked, after… you know." He scratched the back of his head absentmindedly under his trucker cap. "So go easy on the kid, would 'ya?"

With a nod of sympathetic understanding, Brian rinsed his hands in the sink. "I suppose that he's not too eager to see me."

"Well…" Shrugging, Bobby expressed his agreement. "It's not _you_, really. He's just had enough poking and prodding to last a long time, let alone from a doctor."

"Being in this business," Wiping his hands with a dishtowel while he spoke, Brian sighed. "I've seen a lot more of that kind of thing than I'd like. I've had domestic violence and sexual assault victims in my office. Never had anything as extreme as _this_, but and the same thing is expected. After someone hurting you physically somehow … Anyone would be squeamish. Sam's perfectly justified to want his personal space."

Shaking his head, Bobby pursed his lips in disproval. "You don't even know the half of it, Brian. Hell, _I _don't even know the half of it yet."

"What do you mean?"

"Sam was missing for eight days, and we still don't have a clue what happened to him. Besides getting electrocuted earlier today, that is."

Eyebrows going up into a receding hairline and staying there, Brian's mouth hung open slightly. "I… God Bobby, you didn't tell me that he was" –

"I know." A growl escaped Bobby's throat. "That's why I need you to check everything you can right away. And then we should" –

"Sam needs a hospital!" Brian's voice got a tad louder than was necessary, and Bobby shushed him.

"I know!" He repeated angrily, backing away from the counter and throwing his arms in the air. "Why do you think I brought you here! I don't know what to do, Brian!"

Hushing Bobby with a movement of his hands, Brian took a step towards Bobby. "Alright Bobby, alright. I'll go in there and take a look at him. I will. But tomorrow, we're taking him to the hospital. Monsters or no monsters. Okay?"

"Yeah…" Bobby nodded, taking a deep breath inwards to support himself. "Yeah I think that'd be best. I-I'll come in with you. I promised Sam that I would. Follow my lead." With a slow and steady pace, Bobby re-entered the living room. "I'm back, Sam," he made a wider arc than usual around Sam's bed so that the young man would see his approach, and then gestured beside him. "This is Brian."

"Hey, Sam." Brian Davidson knelt down by Sam – but not too close, Bobby noticed – and held out a hand that was obviously meant to shake. He was being cautious, but it was nice to see that he didn't resort to treating Sam like a little kid in order to do it. "How are you doing, son?"

There were a few blank seconds during which Bobby didn't think that Sam would take the man's hand, and Sam met his eyes. He nodded encouragingly, and Sam finally did. "H-Hey there doc," Sam's voice was a failed laugh under his oxygen mask. Trying not to act scared. " Been b-better."

"Yeah?" Davidson folded his legs underneath him so that he was sitting down, and Bobby plopped down a few feet away. "Are you hurting anywhere, Sam?"

Sam nodded. His eyelids looked too heavy to hold up all of a sudden.

"Does your chest hurt at all?"

Another nod. " Feels 'eavy. Hurts t-to … to breathe."

Brian was ruffling through his bag again, and he held up a stethoscope for Sam to see. "Can I check?"

After Sam gestured his approval, the doctor listened to Sam's breathing for a little bit longer than what was necessary, but his face didn't show the worry that he had expressed to Bobby just moments before. "You do sound quite tight, Sam. And a little shaky. Does this seem to be helping at all?" He gestured to the mask that was still strapped over Sam's mouth and nose.

The young man's eyebrows drew forward a bit. "…a little… I d-dono…"

"Well we can put you on a nebulizer right away, and that should help. How's your head feel?"

One of Sam's shoulders moved up and down, which Bobby took right away as a shrug.

"Any dizziness? Migraine?"

Sam frowned. "…yeah. Tired though…"

Brian nodded as they spoke, putting the stethoscope around his neck. "And what about the rest of you? Do any bones or muscles hurt anywhere?"

"M-My… my uh…" Sam stopped to take another deep breath. It was obvious that this short conversation was wearing him out already. "My b-back."

"Your back?" That was the first thing to raise Davidson's eyebrows. "Whereabouts?'

" 'etween the s-shoulder blades."

Brian pursed his lips in thought for a minute. "Your body took a lot of trauma, Sam. You're probably going to have muscle aches for a few days." He looked to Bobby for a minute, his face hard. "Why don't we get some food in you, alright Sam? I think that's the best thing you need right now."

Sensing that the doctor had finished for now, Bobby swallowed and gave him a look that said that they would talk about all of this later. "Thanks Brian."

Davidson gave Sam a big smile before standing on his stiff legs and making his way back into the kitchen, and Bobby shuffled closer to the younger man, moving his hand to Sam's arm comfortingly. "Sammy, how" –

"B-Bobby," Sam cut him off right away. "…I f-feel dirty."

Caught off guard, Bobby hesitated. Oh God. "Sam… It wasn't your fault, son."

Sam blinked in what seemed like surprise at Bobby's statement, although he didn't meet the older man's eyes. "No. I… I feel d-dirty. I n-need a shower."

It was Bobby's turn to be surprised. "Oh. Well Sam, are you sure you're feeling up to" –

" 'ow l-long've I been gone?"

Sobered instantly, Bobby sighed. "Eight days. You, uh… You scared the livin' daylights out of us, you know?"

" 'm sorry…" Sam's response came especially quickly, his breathing almost speeding up a bit. Automatic response.

"Like I said," Worried, Bobby squeezed Sam's shoulder tightly, hoping that it would convey exactly how he felt. "It wasn't your fault. You don't have anything to be sorry for, Sam. I mean it. We're just glad you're back. You okay, son?"

Sam met Bobby's eyes, but looked away the second he did. "I n-need a shower."

Unable to put the image of Sam falling out of his mind, Bobby shook his head. "You just woke up, Sam. Give yourself some time to rest. And I'm not changing my mind 'till you eat something."

Pensive enough to be glaring, Sam almost said something against that. Bobby could see it. He wasn't really sure why Sam was so persistent on getting a shower right away – considering that he literally _just_ woke up – but he knew that it was somehow important. In some magazine or other, Bobby remembered reading that in most rape victims, the first thing they wanted to do was shower. It was like they needed to cleanse themselves of the situation; both physical and emotional. Well it wasn't like Sam was raped – hopefully, Bobby added with worry – but considering the circumstances, he could see how Sam was acting the same way.

"How about some orange juice?" Bobby gave a mental nudge to try and get Sam going. "That's nice and light. We gotta get some electrolytes back in you, Sam."

"…kay…"

Sam offered Bobby a hand and he took it, but it wasn't until Sam pulled off his mask that Bobby realized what Sam wanted him to do. He grabbed Sam's arm above the elbow and pulled, helping him slowly to sit up. Even though Sam's forehead was creased with concentration, he didn't complain. "Careful now, Sammy."

Green eyes stared ahead overtop of Bobby's shoulder to the couch across the room. Understanding perfectly, Bobby stood and then pulled Sam up after him. "I gotcha." He kept a firm hold of Sam's shoulders as the young man swayed a bit, his eyes squeezed closed in what appeared to be a dizzy spell. Bobby trusted that Sam would tell him when they could move again. And he did. Then they made their way over to the couch and Sam dropped into it without much control, resting his head against the couch back and sighing. He looked like he was about to go asleep again, forcing Bobby to rethink the effectiveness of moving to the couch. After watching for a minute to see that Sam was okay, Bobby hurried into the kitchen and grabbed a glass from Brian's stack of clean dishes and filled it with orange juice from the fridge. He closed the door with his foot in his hurry, but stopped when he got back in the doorway. Sam still had his head tilted back on the headrest of the couch, but now his mouth was taut and his forehead scrunched down, eyes closed and chest moving faster than normal. The kid was trying not to cry. Bobby almost moved into the room in worry, but something held him back. Sam had waited until Bobby had left the room for this. Even though every fiber in his body wanted to go against Sam's wishes, he left the room again. There would be a time to get Sam to talk. Right now, he just needed solidarity.

**So what did you guys think? I'd love your feedback, if you have any! **

**Are there any of you out there who read my fic "Wayward Legacy"? Well I am considering making some YouTube previews to "advertise" the story, and I would love it if you dropped by my profile and voted on what kind of thing you would like to see. It'll only take a sec!**


	18. Chapter 18

**So I'm not too big on divulging my personal life to the public eye, but I decided that I should explain why my updates have been coming so scarcely lately. I've thought that I have ADD for a while now, although I was never diagnosed with it. But I've had friends and teachers suspect I've had it since elementary school, so the idea of me having it is nothing new. Anyways, it's gotten to the point where it's getting annoyingly hard to do **_**anything**_** involving concentration, much less writing. And considering that even my grades are starting to go down (to an A student, that's a bit worrying), I've decided to seek medical help. I went to a doctor a few days ago, and he just kind of brushed it off and said that if it wasn't "seriously effecting my life", it isn't worth looking into. Since I get good grades already, he pretty much implied that I'm doing well enough. And he told me that it was "weird" that someone my age is just looking into this now. Well better late then never, right? And clearly it IS effecting my life, both academically and creatively. So I'm going to do some research and find out exactly who I can go to to tell me how I can learn to concentrate better, with or without meds. **

**Long story short, I'm NOT giving up on ANY of my fanfics. This is just a note letting you know that I'm always working on them (when I have time between work and school), but if they come a little later than you or I would like, it isn't because I'm bored with them or not putting the effort in. Chapters WILL start coming faster, but bear with me.**

**Thanks!**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It felt like there was a stake being driven through his sternum and into his spine, pain making a constant round-about trip through his chest and back, up in between his lungs and down under his shoulder-blades. Sam felt his neck muscles restrict slightly as he swallowed down a gulp of air. It was tight having his head tilted back on the couch, but lying in that position kept his eyes upwards and his eyes dry. It was the only way that he could keep himself static without breaking down at the seams. As much as he wanted to scream in pain, he had to get his bearings first. And he needed to think for a second, to try and find out what the hell was going on.

Jesus. He'd been gone for _eight_ days. That was _it_? How could… That didn't even… That was impossible! Sam knew – he damn well knew – that he'd been gone for a good… well… A long time longer than eight freaking _days_; that was for sure!

And even odder than the predicament of days, was the question of the _how_. How did he get to Bobby's? How did he get back on earth, alive? And who had brought him back? Dean?

No… No that was the most illogical thought yet. There was no way that Dean would have been the one to bring Sam back, when he had been the one in hell with Sam in the first place. Dean just wasn't Dean anymore. Maybe when he'd died and gone back to hell, he'd fallen back into his old inquisitor-self like an abandoned shell long forgotten. But it hadn't been Dean. There was nothing else, no other way to look at it. And even if it had been Dean, it really wasn't his fault anyways, considering all the –

No, no, _no_! Damn it all to hell. Sam wasn't about to divulge into that right now. That was _not_ a topic to be thought about right now. It was a time to get his bearings back and figure everything out, not to stress about what Dean and didn't –

_You said not to think about him, so don't think about him._ Sam gritted his teeth and tried to clear his mind, observing Bobby's ceiling with dismay. Dean would have to get shoved into the back corner of his mind for a while. Sam couldn't deal with him right now.

But since Dean didn't bring him back – and since he wasn't _thinking_ about if Dean had brought him back or not, which he hadn't – then that meant that no one did. He knew that Bobby loved him to death, but there were fine lines. And why shouldn't there be? He wouldn't ask his old friend to do that. But if no one had brought him back… then how was it that he got out of hell? There were so many questions that remained unanswered, and more yet to be asked. There was the death of Jane to ponder still, and the fact that Dean was alive and apparently "okay". But he wasn't thinking about Dean right now.

Sam clenched his jaw and released a hiss through open lips. _Son of a bitch…_ Well whatever the factors of him coming back were, they hadn't been detailed very well. Even now that he had been brought back to life, he still felt like hell had run him over with a tank. And then backed up again. How long was it supposed to take for him to get back to normal again? Dean hadn't been like this when _he_ got back.

_No, No. Don't. Not Dean._

Muscles tensing at the thought of his brother, images came to mind of a man with hollow cheekbones and sunken eyes with messy hair and bloodied hands. That man was icy and unmovable, finding humor in the gruesome and patient to wait for whatever he wanted to hear. That man was not his brother. But he was still Dean.

It was as if his body could read his mind. The proverbial knife stuck in Sam's ribcage twisted again, sending him grabbing at his chest and leaning overtop of his knees. Maybe he had made some kind of noise, because it suddenly got quiet in the kitchen.

Bobby's voice followed suit. "…Sam?"

" 'm okay!" Sam got a handhold in the cushions of the armrest, pulling himself to unstable feet. It was hard to explain why he didn't want Bobby to come and check on him, but it could be most-easily described by a dire need to be alone. The room tilted back and forth a few times as Sam struggled to catch his footings, but he blinked it away and stumbled off towards the hallway. " Be righ' back!" He moved long and clumsy legs into the bathroom, and swung the door shut with a clang, realizing with a start that there was no lock. When he pulled his hands back, they were shaking so badly that his elbows seemed to vibrate against his sides. Sam made tight fists and clenched his arms alongside his body tight, and clamped his eyes shut. There was an imaginary rope around his chest, constricting his breathing, and his muscles were spent, tense and unworkable. If he was alive again, wasn't his body supposed to work? It still felt like he had been steamrolled. But maybe it took a few minutes. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, stock still, eyes closed and chest heaving, before he realized that nothing was happening. At all. But another thing that he realized, which was much less profound but perhaps more important than the first notion, was that he was dirty. Not the "I just crawled out of my grave" kind of way that Dean had been when he got back from Hell, but in the "I just went on a week-long camping trip with no available shower" kind of way. He wasn't wearing a shirt or socks – which was just weird, now that he thought about it – but his jeans felt crusted with grime, and even a bit damp. He wasn't about to touch that idea with a ten foot pole, that was for sure. And clothes (or lack of) aside, his skin had the sort of gross athletic feel of dried sweat yet to be washed off. How long did Bobby say that he had been missing? Eight days? That seemed about right. But if Sam had been dead… Then why did he feel – and smell, for that matter – like he had run an eight day marathon while being very much alive?

For some reason, that was what made Sam realize. What if he had been alive this whole time? Bobby had said that he had been _missing _for eight days, not _dead_ for eight days. And being dead wasn't the kind of thing that you just left out of a conversation. They had Sam on oxygen, for goodness sakes! If someone had brought him back, then they didn't exactly have to worry about keeping him alive. Did they?

Sam leaned over the bathtub to turn on the faucet, letting the water run through his fingers until it was as hot as he could stand it. Then while it filled up he began to strip down. He stood in front of the mirror over the sink – being tall enough to get a view of more than his face in it – and observed himself carefully. His face was pale and sunken, with dark circles under flushed eyes, and dark hair hung in strings over his forehead. It took a whopping half-second to see that while he was sore, dirty, and slightly bruised, his skin was unbroken. Any and all scars on his body were ones from past hunts, and there was nothing to suggest that he had gone under any knife from any hand. Well… not any earthly ones anyways. And that fact pointed to the idea that he had been to other realms, so to speak. So… What did that mean?

When the water was much too high, Sam turned off the tap and eased himself in one leg at a time. It was hot enough that steam rose off of it's surface, and Sam almost jumped when he touched it, but forced himself to submerge anyways. After the initial temperature shock he let himself sink into the water until it came to his neck, and pulled his head under. His face burned under the heat, and he rubbed his face with his hands both to disperse this feeling and to somewhat clean it off before revealing it back to the cold and dry air above the water. Then he continued on like the hygiene freak he was and scrubbed himself down. The heat, despite burning his skin – sank into the muscles and acted like some sort of natural tranquilizer. Once he relaxed and laid his head back against the edge of the tub, he felt about ready to go back to sleep. If "back" was the right word to describe the semi-conscious state that he remembered being in and out of not too long ago. And whatever the hell kind of consciousness Jane had had him under. And as for the hell-or-not-hell place that he had either been to or _not_ been to – he was still not sure what to think in that department – well that was _fully_ conscious. So he hadn't slept in eight days. Not really. And damn it, he was tired. He was _finally_ alone, locked safely in the bathroom, and he was too freaking tired to decide right now if he had or hadn't gone to hell or if Dean had really been Dean or if his bones were broken or anything like that. Sleep was the only thing he wanted right now, but he knew that he wouldn't get it. His mind was racing too much. So making up his mind was the only thing he _could_ do.

First things first… The fact that he was _not_ suddenly going to get better was clear to Sam, and now he was a little lost as to what was wrong with him in the first place. Every single muscle in his body felt like it had been pulled, and the stake shoved between his lungs didn't feel like it was easing up. He needed to think…. What the _hell_ had happened to him?

Thinking had been the original idea. But in the end, sleep won.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The hospital was cold, dry, and smelled of antiseptic. None of those things, Dean thought, were particularly pleasant. But regardless, it was as it was. It was the typical hospital, and Dean didn't like it one bit.

In fact, he hated it even more than most hospitals. His bias was unfair and stupid, but no matter now clean and white the walls were, or how sterilized the tools were, Sam wasn't being taken care of here. So he had no reason to purse his lips and thank the doctors, or to sit in uncomfortable plastic chairs and pay notice to how many times in a day the nurse came in to their room. No, Sam was at Bobby's. He was cold, dirty, scared shitless, and hurting like hell, and this hospital wasn't helping one bit. Nope, not one bit. Really, the only ones who were helping were the Davidsons. If it weren't for Brian and Karen, well… He wasn't going to think about that right now.

_Speaking of Karen…_ The good wife herself was gesturing for him to proceed into the storage room that she had finally gotten the key to - after a long an annoyingly painful discussion with the ward on exactly why she needed they key in the first place – and Dean followed her in with haste. He had waited here for three hours _after_ the drive, and eventually decided to pick up the medications while Karen sweet-talked the ward. He had found the pharmacy like a pro and picked up what Karen had pre-ordered on the drive over, and was quite surprised to find that she had told the pharmacist to put the costs on her tab. Hell, the man wouldn't even take his money when he offered. Normally he would've taken the time to argue about that for a while, but time was of the essence tonight. So reluctantly he had agreed to just take the meds and go, and then backed the vehicle up in front of the side door that Karen had specified. But now, looking at the machinery that Karen was pointing to, he realized that none of it was heavy enough for the lifting that he had been expecting. It was actually small. Like… "Snowflake the cat" kind of small.

_What the hell, Bobby?_

Dean moved his grumpy self over to the shelf and grabbed the first box, moving towards the vehicle angrily.

Karen nudged him in the side with her elbow as she caught up to him. "You alright, kid?"

Kid? Wasn't he old enough to be exempt that by now? She seemed barely 15 years older than him, anyways. And they both knew that Dean _wasn't_ alright, although he didn't speak against the question because he knew that Karen meant nothing by it. So he just said nothing.

All in all, they got everything packed up in the backseat in a good ten minutes. This time Dean drove, and he sped away like a madman on a deadline. Which really… he was. There had been no reason to come, now that he saw the ease of which all of the equipment could be moved. Karen wouldn't have had any trouble with this stuff, despite what Bobby had claimed. Now Dean saw that he had just been sent out of the house to cool down. Well he had to hand it to the man. Bobby's hoax had worked well. He was still going to kill the man, but it had worked well.

"You… need anything in there kiddo?" Bobby's rapped on the door lightly with his knuckles, leaning against it and keeping his ear close to hear any answer. It would've been so easy to barge in there with guns blazing, desperate to see if Sam was okay. Was he ill, was he throwing up, was he in pain? Someone who had just been electrocuted running to the bathroom in that kind of hurry wasn't exactly a good sign. They still had no idea of what was wrong with Sam, so the kid being alone wasn't something that Bobby was necessarily comfortable with. The only reason why he _didn't_ go in there, however, was the fact that he could hear water running. And knowing his own damn house better than anybody, he knew that it was the faucet from the bathtub. So Sam was having that bath that he had been desperate for. It showed a serious mental disturbance that he couldn't wait for his damn juice first, but the fact that he even bothered – or even _could_ – turn the tap on was a sign that he hadn't run in order to hide some awful medical emergency. If he was vomiting up his guts in there, it would take more than the sound of running water to cover that up. But a little reply would still be nice. "…Sam?"

Nothing. Well that was just peachy. As if Bobby's nerves weren't strung up as it was. He always knew these boys would be the death of him. Turning the glass of orange juice in his hand so that it teased the edge of the rim, he let himself sigh with discontent. "You orange juice will be in the kitchen . I'll bring you some clean clothes in a bit. Just call if you need anything, alright?"

Again, the sound of the water was his only answer. Well he'd check back in a while, as promised. Clearly this wasn't getting anywhere.

The first thing that Sam noticed upon waking was an odd compressed feeling about his body, both weightless and invasive at the same time. He inhaled slowly, testing this new sensation, and gasped as his chest exploded in agony. _Son of a…_ His eyes shot open, all air in his lungs officially dispersed, and shockingly bright lights assaulted him. No, no, no no… Not here. Not again. Immediately squirming, Sam stopped himself when his feet hit something hard and slippery and his back pressed up against something flat, instead of the hard restraining bed that he had been expecting. His eyes adjusted to see what the source of the odd floating feeling was, and saw… water. He was in a bathtub. Well that was a new one. Jane was just getting more and more creative, wasn't she? Trying to fight past the pulsating force in between his ribs, Sam grabbed hold of the edge of the tub and pushed, getting one leg underneath him. The pain was between his shoulder-blades now, stabbing up and down his spine like some weird nervous version of ping-pong. It would've been natural to scream, to sink back into the tub and give up. But who would come for him? There was no one but him in this freaking tomb of a game. Back and for the he went, a mouse between cat and a trap, unsure which was the worse fate. Where was he this time? A movie? In a room in Jane's make-believe hospital? In hell? Damnit, where _was _he? Something like fear or adrenaline got him out of the tub, although once he did he couldn't comprehend what movements he had made to get him there. That adrenaline kept him from shivering, although it wasn't enough to stop him from feeling that his limbs were jello and someone had used his torso as a batting ram. All of a sudden the room tilted forwards, and he grabbed onto the sink to keep himself from falling, his knuckles white and stretched tight on the hard slippery surface. Oh… and the head rush. He couldn't forget the head rush. Pushing himself up as fast as he could without sending himself to the floor, Sam noticed for the first time that there was a folded towel on the bathtub. He grabbed it eagerly, but the sight of neatly folded clothes under it almost made him drop it. Woah… He picked up a pair of jeans – Sam-sized jeans, he couldn't help noticing – and a pair of boxers fell to the floor. And an old off-white undershirt that Sam had worn so many times that it was stretched in such a way that it practically molded to his body. These were _his _clothes. Oh… god… Someone had been _in_ here. He looked around anxiously, as if that certain someone would appear right in front of him. Of course they didn't, which left him feeling rather foolish. Well… he'd seen weirder things happen.

Very much aware that he was still standing stark naked in a bathroom and probably only seconds away from a serial killer/monster/demon/saw extra to come barging in on him, Sam hurried into his boxers and jeans. The shirt caused a lot of grief, as for some reason moving his arms above that way sent fire down into his back, but in the end he decided that stretching the shirt was better than stretching him. Besides, when Jane's next toy came in, it would get bloody soon enough. As always. He still hadn't figure out how to win yet, so to speak. But when whatever or whoever was outside decided to come in, he would at least face it with some modesty.

But was that all he had to face it with? Turning to the cabinet before him, Sam pulled out the cupboards, sifting through each one until he found something sharp. A first aid kit caught his eye, and he tore into a zip lock bag which held a pair of sterilized scissors. Those would work.

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The front door nearly shut itself after bouncing back on the wall as Dean burst in. He neglected to remove his shoes or jacket, but headed directly into the living room and stopped dead when his eyes made it to the vacant blanket-bed. Sam wasn't there.

"Bobby!" His boots couldn't be taken into the kitchen fast enough, and his head dashed back and forth in search for the older man. Instead, he found Brian on his laptop at the kitchen table, his fingers moving like burly sausages across the keys. "Where's Sam?"

Davidson jerked up from his chair, almost knocking over as he stood in alarm. "Oh, Dean. I, uh… Well he's just" –

"_Dean,_ calm down," came the monotone version of Bobby's gruff voice, which was probably intended to be fatherly or soothing or something. "He's just" –

"Have you _been_ the living room?" Whipping around to face the older man, Dean ended up practically in his face. "Sam's not in his bed!"

As if purposely trying to make Dean wait, Bobby took a deep breath before speaking. "Dean… I _know_. Sam'sin the bathroom."

"In the… _Alone_?"

"No, I'm about to jump in there with him." Bobby's voice was laced with sarcasm.

Dean couldn't believe his own ears. He span towards the bathroom. "Son of a" –

Quick as a snake, a hand went out to clasp Dean's arm above the elbow and pulled him back, fingers tight enough to bruise. "Dean…" It was eerie how quiet Bobby's voice got, and immediately Dean stilled. "We're taking him to the hospital in the morning. No objections."

Eyes traveling down the hallway to the bathroom, Dean frowned. "Is he…?"

"He's hurtin', but he made it to the bathroom on his own. I'm pretty sure he ran there, actually. I checked on him a few minutes ago, left him some towels and clean clothes, and he had fallen asleep in the bathtub. Out like a light." Before Dean could even ask, Bobby continued. "And he was snoring, so I didn't think there was any point checking breathing. I just left him alone. The kid needs some space. He…" Letting go of Dean's arm, Bobby walked into the living room a bit, and Dean followed quickly. Bobby lifted his hand to remove his trucker cap and smooth down the hair there, sighing. "Sam's pretty uneasy, Dean. He almost went off his rocker a while ago when Brian tried to give him a painkiller, and that was when he even let the man near him. Keep in mind that he was half-conscious, but still. I think… I think Jane did more to him that we think."

It was the last thing that he wanted to hear, but to some degree Dean knew it all along. Breath not wanting to move through his lungs, he turned, running a hand over his face and trying to control himself. Jane had warned him about this. Was that supposed to make it harder or easier? He could only imagine some of the tricks that she had picked up in hell – from Dean himself, no doubt – to put a person through agony. But… He had _seen_ Sam. A knife hadn't touched him. And there weren't enough bruises on his body to suggest anything else either. How else could she have… "Did Sam tell you anything?"

He could almost sense Bobby shaking his head. "No. He didn't need to."

Forcing himself to breathe in and out deeply through his mouth, Dean gazed down the hallway again. There were easily a dozen books in his sight that could be hucked across the room or broken, along with two lamps and probably ten artifacts of suspicious origin. The need to break something was almost uncontrollable. It wasn't fair. Jane had hurt his baby brother, and Dean hadn't even been there to protect him.

Sensing his frustration, Bobby rested his hand on Dean's shoulder. This time, his touch was gentle. "But I'm not his big brother. You are. He takes his stride from you probably more than you know, Dean. I know you're freaking out right now, and have every right to be, but you can't let Sam see that. If you don't cool it down, then _he _wont be able to. I wouldn't normally condone this, but if you want to talk to him right now then you need to put on your game face. You can tell him how worried you were _later_." Eyes both understanding and hard at the same time, Bobby held the contact for a few moments before turning to a glass of orange juice from the edge of a table by the hallway. "You need an excuse to go talk to him? Here." He shoved the glass in Dean's hands. "And I'd knock before you go in. He's got clean clothes in there already, so give him a minute."

This was all standardized and irrelevant. He changed Sam's diapers as a kid, helped him get dressed when he broke both wrists when they were teens, and changed his clothes when he somehow managed to knock himself unconscious and get hypothermia in the same night at a bar three years ago. Dean had pretty much seen it all. So he wasn't exactly worried about _that_. But keeping in mind what Bobby said about Sam needing his privacy – and knowing that Sam on a _normal_ day was about as much of a prude as a man his age could be – the last thing he would want was to was embarrass him. Or God forbid scare him. Dean could understand from first-hand experience why a person would be reserved about their body after going through a physical ordeal like Sam had. So because of all of those factors – and because Dean himself was afraid of finding out what had happened - it took every muster of Dean's gusto to actually walk the few steps to the end of the hallway and rap with a timid fist on the door. For good measure, he knocked again. His voice came out feeble when he spoke. "…. Sam?"

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**Yet again, thanks for reading! I won't have any clue what you think unless you review, so please let me know! I love getting feedback from you guys! You've been so good to me!**


	19. Chapter 19

"_Your skull froze little lives,__  
__In shadows where you hide.__  
__A life that was designed,__  
__You've been cheated, oh so blind._

_Yeah lately I know that I've been crawling.__  
__I know that I've been falling__  
__Into your dream.__  
__Imagine no more tears,__  
__Dissolving all your fears.__  
__With tooth and claw we fight__  
__Into this endless night._

_I saw my fears in your eyes.__  
__You saw your fear in mine.__  
__We watched it burn together.__  
__Watched it burn."_

_Unkle, "When Things Explode"_

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Knock! Knock!

"…Sam?"

The voice chimed gently from the other side of the door, a paradox that caused Sam to jump in his skin. He knew that voice, perhaps better than his own, as it was seared into his brain. How ironic that a voice so soft, so brotherly, could hold so much wrath. And equally ironic was the fact that the sturdy wooden door before him was tissue paper in comparison. Dean; a wolf in sheep's clothing.

"Hey jumbo, your orange juice is getting warm!" There was a vibration in Dean's voice that was strained and irregular. It was his worried voice. Damn actor that he was.

The scissors in Sam's hand vibrated back and forth against the fabric of his jeans, tapping a pattern at his side. Tap…t-t-t-tap. Tap. He steadied his hand by pressing the inside of his wrist into his leg, chest puffing as he strained to draw a breath. Damn, what was wrong with him? At first he had believed this to be Jane's work; Bobby, the doctor, they all seemed so real. The whole rescue-resuscitate bit was good. He should have known that it was Dean's. Big brother always knew how to pull the wool over his eyes.

T-T-Tap, tap, t-t-t-t-t-t-tap.

Sam flipped the scissors around in his hands so that they would face forwards if he raised his arm, and as quietly as his shaky six-and-a-half-foot self would allow, he put his back against the wall beside the door.

He could hear Dean inhale from out in the hallway. "Sammy… you're kind of freaking me out a bit here, man. Privacy or not, I'm coming in there if you don't say something."

Shoulder-bones poking into stained wallpaper, Sam shoved his pain into a storage cell where it could be packed away. Not hidden, but fueled.

"…Sam?"

_Just do it_… Sam breathed in slowly through his nostrils, letting the air slip out through his lips without a sound. Dean thought he would allow this forever? Screw him. If Sam was going to be torn to bits, which was inevitable, he wanted to tear a piece of his own first. Come on!

The doorknob turned slowly and hesitated, as if waiting for protest from Sam on the other side. His heart hammered in his chest, and he brought the make-shift weapon up to shoulder-height with both hands.

With confidence, the door swung open, big brother barging in with broad steps. "Sam, what the hell are you" -

A lack of grace had Sam falling more than jumping at Dean, arms moving in some form of a swinging motion. They hit the wall beside the tub with a conjoined umph sound, a surprised Dean sliding to the ground on a loose bath mat and landing on his hip. Sam was half-pulled, half-fell to his knees in an unbalance heep, one arm still holding the scissors towards his brother's chest, and the boys landed in a pile of flailing arms and legs. The world swam in a dizzy fog before his eyes, and Sam swung out blindly at arms that were holding him back.

"Ugh… son of a… Jesus, Sam, what are you…. Stop it!" Dean's voice jumped in and out of clarity as both of their oxygen tanks were emptied and refilled in the struggle, causing him to stop mid-sentence and Sam to miss others.

Trying to get his ankle out from under Dean's knee and his elbow underneath him – and out of Dean's grip - so that he could properly hold the blade, Sam found himself flopping like a fish on the floor of the bathroom. "You're not… you don't… Not gonna let you…"

"Woah, woah, Samm-_ugh_!" Taking a knee to the stomach, Dean faltered and let go of Sam's arm. "It's me!"

"What the hell's going on in there?" There was a growl on the other side of the door – hell's prosthetic Bobby, Sam assumed – and he slammed an extended hand in the door with his foot as it began to swing open, causing an eruption of curses.

Dean pulled Sam's arms up in an attempt to pull the scissors from his grip, and Sam bent his elbows and pushed. The tips hovered dangerously close to Dean's adam's apple before they were pulled from Sam's hands and tossed out of sight. "Dude, calm down! You're okay…. It's me" –

"G-Go to hell." Sam swung out at random in his rage, but at such close proximity the blow became more of a slap than a punch. All of a sudden the world span as Sam found himself thrown onto his back in a flash of movement and pain, strong hands pinning him to the ground. His vision went white for a moment.

"Sam, enough!"

A loud and drastic voice inches away from Sam's face caused him to flinch, and he couldn't help tensing up in apprehension. It was like a friggen joke. No matter what the circumstances where, Sam always had the glimmer of hope in reasoning that he could win, or at least get in a good punch along the way; he was always met with surprise when he lost. After all this time. But when he did, he always remembered each previous encounter. And he was afraid.

Stealing himself for the first blow, Sam's eyes concentrated on his surroundings; anything but Dean. For the first time he noticed that the ground was coated with some kind of sticky wetness. Was he bleeding already?

The hands on Sam's shirt loosened, and he was unable to stop himself from imagining the tool that Dean was reaching for. But instead of letting go, the hands remained limply on his shoulders.

"…. Sam? Sam, look at me."

Oh god… What was he waiting for? Dean always had to make it so damn personal. Couldn't he just get it over with already?

Dean's breathing hitched in Sam's ear, a foreign something whacking Sam in the nose as he leaned back to his knees. The corners of his mouth were pinched in a look that was… bothered? Sam's eyes traveled down to the mysterious object, his brow furrowing. It was… wait. Dean didn't wear his amulet in hell!

The door chose that moment to fly open, cracking Dean in the back it did so. He let out a tiny frustrated yelp, giving Bobby less than a passing glare and a wave of the arm. It was a demand for space. Sam watched the newcomer cradle his wrist warily, unsure if the nervous crunch of the beard was authentically Bobby or a ploy of hell's prototype to gain his trust. When the thing called him "Sammy" in a breathless cough, muttering out something that sounded like a question, Sam found himself confused. The wet sensation coated his back, and after a moment he realized that it was cold… and orange. The juice! Sam processed that for a moment. Why hadn't the scenery melted yet? Artificial worlds in hell didn't usually last this long without something else going on. The prologue to the play was lasting much longer than it should.

His eyes moved back to his brother – the one thing that he knew for a fact to be real, good or bad – and the stoic Sammy that was written all over his features, but once again the amulet caught his attention. The dimensions, the way it hit the light… completely accurate. And it didn't belong in hell. Dean had never worn his amulet in the pit.

"D….Dean?" A breathy sigh of a question escaped Sam's lips, and he felt the muscles in his neck relaxing in relief.

The understanding in his brother's eyes clicked instantly, and Dean squeezed Sam's arms lightly with both hands. "Yeah, Sammy. It's me… You're safe. It's okay…" As he spoke, Dean's eyes traveled up and down Sam a few times. "We're at Bobby's. Are you hurt anywhere? Can you move?"

Still focused on the symbolic representation of Sam's bond with his brother, dangled around Dean's neck, he zoned out to Dean's questions. Why was he wearing it now? So now that Dean was out of hell, was he on Sam's team again? Did he even remember what he had done?

"… dude, you with me?" A light tap on the shoulder brought Sam back into focusing on his blurry brother's face.

"Uhhh…."

"How do you feel?" The words were enunciated slowly, as if Sam was deaf and confused. Which was probably a good idea, now that he thought about it. But why was the question so challenging? There were a hundred-million possible responses, most of them gravitating towards the no side of the spectrum. Wait… Dean hadn't asked a yes or no question. Terrible; that was better. He was terrible. Whatever the question was… terrible would cover it.

"… m' dizzy."

"I kind of spilt your juice…" Dean rubbed the back of his neck shamefully, as if he could have helped being slammed into by 220 pounds of little brother while holding a glass of liquid, and eyed the floor. "But you need some nutrients, bro."

"We can get more juice, Sam." Bobby spoke softly in the background, sensing that three was a crowd. "Would you like that?"

"J-Juice would be nice," Sam agreed with a tiny smile, imagining a thirst-quench beverage. He couldn't even begin to wonder how long his throat had been this dry.

"We need to get you up off this floor." Dean stared straight into Sam's eyes in the middle of his power talk, clearly trying very hard to help Sam understand what was happening.

Sam thought about it for a moment, tossing out a "mhmm" with skepticism. It hurt to think, let alone move… but as much as he wanted to lie here on this floor until judgment day, the thought of a drink prompted him to allow Dean and Bobby to pull him to his feet rather quickly. Vertigo tempted his stomach to empty itself, but as it was already empty there was luckily nothing to spew. Sam squinted away the haze and allowed him to be more or less dragged back into the living room, and plopped back down on the couch.

It was like déjà vu. He had believed this to be real not minutes ago, lost faith, and was convinced again. But this was real, he told himself shakily. This was too real to _not_ be real.

"Here," The more scraggily of voices matched aged hands that eased a cold glass into both of Sam's. He looked up into eyes that were hard and coldly-shaded by the brim of a trucker cap, but still kind. At the sight of a red line-shaped bruise forming along Bobby's right wrist, Sam winced.

"B-Bobby… your hand" –

"I've had worse paper cuts, kiddo. I'll live." Bobby shrugged one shoulder and dismissed it with a half smile, nodding towards the glass. "Drink up." Sam felt his hands shaking around the glass, but the man who had been more of a father to him than his own guided it to his mouth slowly. After waiting to see that he had taken a good gulp or two, Bobby set it down on a rusty tray table that had seemed to come out of nowhere. Sam noticed that he used his left hand instead of his right.

Dean hovered in the corner of Sam's vision, completely uncomfortable. The second that Bobby moved out of the way, he swooped in like a hawk that was trying unsuccessfully to move gently. Sensing that Sam was jumpy, he knelt down at eye level. "…Sam?"

Sam remained silent, unsure what was expected of him. He searched his brothers' eyes for something that made it clear that he understood; guilt, shame, disappointment… anything. Didn't Dean remember?

For a moment no one spoke, causing Sam cleared his throat, waiting. The elephant in the room was unbearable. "Dean?"

Leaning back on his heels to address their second father, Dean faced Bobby. "Mind telling the doc that Sam's up? He should get one of those breathing machines going again, or something."

"Yeah, I'll… Yeah, Okay." With a sigh, Bobby proceeded upstairs heavily. The pair waited until he had left the room to speak.

Dean rotated to face Sam fully, his face patient. One hand rested on the couch for support, and the other on his brother's knee, which he squeezed softly. "Sammy… Can you breathe?"

It was such an unexpected question, such a monumental disappointment, that Sam deflated. He tried to hold on to the sincerity in Dean's eyes. "N…Not really."

Dean had had his own incident with electric-shock a few years ago, Sam remembered suddenly. It had almost killed him, in fact, as his heart threatened to give out. That had only been the result of one shock, but what would result out of 8 days worth? Sam tried to wrap his head around the notion that he could die here. It was no wonder Dean was freaking out.

"Here… have some more." Dean held the orange-juice glass in Sam's direction sternly, and he took it. When it shook in his hands, a steady grip on his elbow steadied it enough for Sam to take a few slow gulps. For some reason, they burned on the way down.

"…I made Bobby come here, instead of the hospital."

With a down-turned face Dean made his confession. It was honest enough, and would have been worth more if Sam understood. Frowning at his brother over his juice, Sam took another sip to prevent himself from having to offer a reply.

"We were worried about being followed, you know… In case she had minions, or whatever," Dean continued. "But we killed Jane, Sam. Was she working with someone? Do you remember anyone else being there?"

"_You _were t-there," Sam responded instantly. There was such a contradiction between earth-Dean and hell-Dean that he couldn't help doubting both of them. Paradoxes like that weren't supposed to exist. He wanted his brother to admit that hell-Dean had gotten the best of him again.

Dean's brow furrowed in that patient-and-yet-confused look he had been wearing for the past five minutes. "…of course I was, man. Bobby was there too. We found you in the basement of an old community centre last night."

"But that's not… that's not what I…"

"Well look who's up and at 'em!" Doctor Brian Davidson strutted into the room with a small machine tucked under one arm, a length of electrical cord dangling over his other shoulder. "Ah, and you're drinking something. Good. We needed to get your blood sugar levels back up again." He approached the couch slowly, and set the machine down on the floor; afterwards he perched on the arm of the couch to look consolingly at his young ward. "How are you feeling, Sam?"

"About the… the same, doc."

"I think it would help you quite a bit if we kept you on this for a while. Your lungs are venerable right now, and you need more oxygen."

Offering a nod in response, Sam smiled tightly. Although he was uncomfortable in the stranger's presence, he knew that in other circumstances he and the man would get along quite well. "W-Why are you doing this?"

"Well hopefully the respirator will help keep oxygen levels in your blood up to par, which will" –

"No… not t-that. You're helping me. W-Why?"

Davidson, who had begun plugging in the machine and programming its many buttons and settings as he spoke, hesitated. "I'm a doctor, Sam. This is my job."

Sam gulped down the rest of his juice gingerly, delaying his response. "Yeah, but…"

"Bobby called me when he and Dean found you. They were afraid of being followed to a hospital and figured that this place would be safer. You needed a healthcare professional, Sam."

Just like that. It was that simple. Brian powered up the machine without another word and handed Sam the mouth-piece, who pulled the strap back behind his head, letting it sit over his nose and mouth. With a whoosh from the machine next to him, air traveled down a hollow plastic tube and into Sam's breathing apparatus. Eagerly he inhaled. It was cold and tasted of plastic, but Sam's lungs couldn't get enough of it.

Dean, who had been uncharacteristically quiet since Davidson's return, had been watching Sam with a furrowed brow until this point. Sam was troubled by his expression, prickled by the sensation that he was being observed so closely. "Sam, are you" –

Sam just nodded, shutting out his brother's voice, and sunk back into the couch cushions. Although the mask was being held to his face by a strap, his hand still grasped the bridge of the nosepiece loosely, hiding the lines around his mouth from the outside world. Wrapping his free arm around his stomach, he tucked his elbow in the crook of his hand and let the weight of his heavy head fall on his arm. He allowed his eyes to close, lids weights on his eyes. The outside world became a part of the background, separate from him and the whooshing of the air coming in and out of the mask. In and out, in and out; that was all he could do right now. Sam had no capacity to answer questions, or consider his situation, or make decisions on what he believed to be true or not. By simply breathing, by continuing to exist, he was using up all of the effort that he had to spend. It was all he could do to sit there and breathe, while his lungs were on fire and everyone's eyes were on him. Especially Dean's. Always Dean's.

There was a soft drone of noise coming from across the room, and Sam caught the tail-end of Dean's suggestion to get Sam off to bed, STAT. The doctor mentioned something about food, Dean said something agreeable, and Sam continued to listen to the simple dependability of the machine that fed his lungs. If he let go of the mask, he feared, he may never get it back.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dean watched Sam take the mask from the good doctor passively, regarding his explanation with skepticism. Brian's response to Sam's questions had filled Dean up, in a sort of thankful warm way, and he met Davidson's eyes for a moment that was longer than necessary. Every time that he shrugged off this service as part of his job, a simple good deed, Dean was humbled. God knew that he owed this man his life. And that was probably a literal notion. If he had lost Sam… he wasn't sure what he would have done.

Sam clasped onto the mask for dear life, and seemed to lean into his hand as if to hide his face from the world, an arm wrapped protectively around himself. Dean knew that he needed the oxygen, but the desperation and pain in Sam's eyes reflected a higher level of need than purely the physical. Sam wasn't out of the woods yet, and every motion he made threatened another breakdown, whether it be mental or physical. Maybe emotional was next.

"Sam, are you…."

Sam, who didn't seem to process a word Dean said, simply nodded into his hand. It was a "Yes, now shut up and leave me alone." sort of nod, the kind that Dean only got when Sam was angry with him. Strike two. He had tried to not to be offended by Sam's attack earlier, well aware that he wasn't in his right mind and would have likely attacked _anyone_ who had walked through that door… but even still he couldn't help feeling a little hurt. Sam had always relied on Dean with total trust and need when he was hurt. So why was this time any different? Maybe Dean was unable to look at this objectively because he was freaking out inside, but he had felt waves of distrust radiating off of his brother from the get-go. And more than that… It was one thing for Sam to have jumped him in self defense, but Dean had looked into his eyes. Multiple times. And Sam had looked back with recognition in his.

_"You're not… you don't… Not gonna let you…"_

Over and over Dean ran over the jumble that Sam had spit out during the "fight". His brother had always had spunk, and the Winchester in Dean was damn proud to see him putting up a fight like this. Sam almost always kept his head no matter how injured he was, but this time he was freaking out. Who did he think Dean was? What did he think he would do?

What had they done to him?

For a few minutes they sat there in silence, the jagged rasp of Sam's breathing constantly off-tempo with the machine he was hooked up to. They were the only sounds in the room for much too long before Dean turned to Davidson, who waited patiently by the side of the bed, and Bobby, who had wandered back into the living room. "I think he's ready for bed, guys."

Bobby nodded, understanding Dean's plea quite plainly. "I'll grab you a sleeping bag," he began to move towards the staircase before Dean interrupted.

"That's fine, Bobby. We'll sleep upstairs tonight."

Dean wasn't shaken by Bobby's suggestion, because it was quite obvious that he had no plans to let Sam out of his sight. But although the living room was closer, Sam would probably appreciate a real bed in comparison to one made of stacked blankets, no matter how nice it may be.

After Sam's fifteen-minute lung-treatment was over, the doctor made him finish his juice and eat half of a kid-sized portion of mashed potatoes and beans. To see a man Sam's size picking at his food with such distaste was startling, and very soon Sam had his full. Davidson gave him a various assortment of pills before sending him up to bed. Sam allowed Dean to help him up the stairs without protest, although he seemed dead-set on continuing his distant behavior. Dean got out their satchels and in complete silence helped Sam out of his now orange-juice stained shirt, stood alongside his stony brother as they brushed their teeth, and then set up their beds. Bobby had picked up two twin beds about six months ago now, a standing testament to the bond he had with the Winchester boys, and they had set up their own little room since then. It was much appreciated, especially now that a place on the couch would no longer cut it.

When Sam changed from his jeans to sweat-pants, Dean kept his back turned and pretended to adjust his blankets some more, sympathetic of Sam's new-found self-consciousness. After the shuffling noises had stopped he turned around to see Sam leaning against the head-board, his knees half bent with legs under the covers. It seemed like he had made a half-ass attempt at piling up pillows behind himself, although Dean couldn't understand why he didn't just go to bed. The bruises on Sam's wrist stood out against the beige comforter, and Dean had to force himself not to stare.

"…Sammy?" Stretching his words, Dean gave Sam a curious look. "Can I get you anything?"

Without meeting Dean's eyes, Sam just shook his head.

"Does it still" –

"I'm tired, Dean." Sam winced to himself, but continued to regard Dean with as little eye-contact as possible. It was painful to watch him slide under the blankets, and Dean nearly stepped forward to help. Then without a goodnight, Sam pulled the blankets almost up to his chin, and closed his eyes.

There was not much else to do, so Dean resigned and turned off the bedroom light, getting ready for bed in the dark. Sam pretended to sleep for almost an hour before he drifted off, and even then Dean could see his fist scrunching the blankets in sleep.

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Once again, thank you a hundredfold for your loyalty. I appreciate you coming back to read, and I hope you all take a few seconds to review. It really does make my day to hear from you all, and as a writer is always great to get some feedback. I hope you enjoyed!

On a side note…

Please, PLEASE check out the new trailer for "Wayward Legacy". If you have not read it yet, head over to my channel and take a look. The YouTube trailer is here:

(I can't post hyperlinks, so take this link and add "" to the front of it and paste it in a browser window.)

.com/watch?v=zsf714Gyf1I

And the Fanfiction is here (add )

.net/s/4617248/1/Wayward_Legacy


	20. Chapter 20

"Hell is empty and all the devils are here."

William Shakespeare

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Sam peered over the roof warily, holding his body as far back as possible. Below him the city-lights pulsated rhythmically in yellow, red and blue. He observed the general shape of a large sign wreathed in green, dancing to the commotion of the traffic below; tiny toy cars speeding across a little black ribbon of pavement.

_Oh, Jesus._

Eyes wide, Sam stepped back from the ledge and onto the general safety of the rooftop. The ground was much too far away, and therefore, he was too damned high up! The silver-tipped ledge teased him, reflecting the moon's sheen back into the night sky. It beckoned him closer, tempting him to jump. By now Sam had figured it out; he knew how to predict the murder weapon before it stuck him. Any active movie-observer could notice that when a gun was produced in the beginning of a film, it would be used again at the end. In just the same way, the ledge would be the cause of Sam's destruction. At this point, he was sure of it.

Well… At one point, he would have been sure of it. But now he wasn't so sure. Jane had made his life a living re-run of every horrific scene ever constructed for film or television, but it had been predictable. But hell? Hell was surprising, sporadic, and shocking. Hell's inmates had no respect for the cinematography or narrative of human story-telling. Sam had been able to prepare himself for the horror in Jane's world, which had given him the smallest degree of comfort considering the circumstances. But the confusion of always running, of being in the dark… it was just as much torture as the actual torture was. That was something that Dean understood more than Jane ever could.

Summoned by the ledge, Sam breathed deeply and took a large step forward, so that his toes curled over the edge. He closed his eyes.

"Dude, you always were a pussy." Behind him, Dean's voice rang out in laughter. Sam spun around to see him approach from the shadows, although he could have sworn that he was alone just a minute ago. Then again, he was used to that. "You think you're going to kill yourself? In here?"

Clenching his fists, Sam backed up until his heels hovered over the edge.

Dean's hands were in his pockets, but Sam could see that he was holding something rod-shaped. Already he could guess at what it was.

"Sammy… You're already dead." The sympathetic tone in Dean's voice was contradicted by the aggressive stance of his approach. Like a cat circling a mouse. Stopping a few feet short of Sam, Dean pulled the object from his pocket, and the sharp edge glimmered in the moonlight. Fingering it fondly, he ran it through the fingers of his left hand as he spoke. "And you think you could have created a place a little cooler than this to die, Sam? Because I could come up with a few."

"I didn't invent this place." Panting softly, Sam spoke through lungs that felt unexplainably squeezed. "_You _did."

Raising a sceptic eyebrow, Dean lowered his hands to his sides casually. "And what would be the purpose? To run you off the roof? That seems a little lame to me." Once again he drifted towards Sam, but this time with much more purpose in his step. Placing himself in dangerous proximity, Dean lifted the blade with ease and held the point against Sam's sternum so that it just barely touched poked through his shirt. Sam was torn between the instinct to lean away from the blade, and the knowledge that he would lose his balance and topple off the roof if he did. Slowly, Dean grinned. "But then again…"

Dean pushed ever-so slightly, and Sam felt his instincts scream at the loss of balance as he fell. The rooftop was replaced with gravity, which wrapped Sam in her arms and pulled him down tightly into her bosom. He gasped for air, but none came, and at a loss he closed his eyes and waited for the end. Falling off of a skyscraper would be one of the easy ones. He should try and take it for what it was…. A break from everything else.

But it didn't end as Sam would expect, as he should have expected. In fact, it didn't end at all. When Sam hit the pavement, there was no restart. Instead he found himself broken, _literally_, across the pavement, his bones cracked and crumbled, and his body pooling blood like a popped water balloon. Pain screamed from every nerve he had ever felt, and even a few that he didn't know he had. It howled so loudly that it cut through all thought and reason, leaving Sam a dead-minded mess, but Sam himself could not scream. Somehow there was room in his pain-haze for a moment of clarity, during which he saw Dean stroll out of the building's main doors to stand over Sam with an amused smile. "Okay… You were right about rooftops, Sammy. I could do this on a regular basis."

"Dean…" Although Sam was aware that his body was unable to make sounds at this point, he heard himself speak. By now, he had learned not to question hell's abilities of rule-bending.

"Mhmm?" Bored, Dean picked at something under his nails with the blade, as Sam bled at his feet.

Another valuable lesson that Sam had learned in hell was that words were utterly disposable. They were fragments of nothingness that could _represent_ thought and emotion, but words were neither of these things. You thought what you thought, and you felt what you felt; words only conveyed these ideas to the outside world. Well his expansive Stanford-level vocabulary was worthless here, where his vocabulary had become mostly restricted to "stop", "please", and "Dean". These words did absolutely nothing, but for some reason Sam could never stop himself from begging.

"I can't… God, Dean… Just… I can't take it anymore…. I can't…. Please."

It was the first time that Dean showed a reaction besides joy to something that came out of Sam's mouth, and he stilled. "What was that?"

"…Dean _please_…" Sam blubbered on, despite the fact that his body was, for all intents and purposes, completely busted. He was unable to care anymore that his mouth wasn't moving, or how he still managed to convey his thoughts out loud. All he knew was that it _hurt! _The pain danced up and down his spine and everywhere else, feeding from a central point between his shoulder blades. He was also vaguely aware that he wasn't breathing.

"No, not that." Deliberately Dean shook his head, and knelt down at Sam's side. "What was that about how you can't take it anymore? Did I hear that right?"

"_Please_" –

"Yeah, yeah, I got that part." With a wave of his hand Dean dismissed Sam's pleas aloofly. His eyes were frigid as he observed his little brother's pain in disgust. "Sam… You're pretty disappointing, man. I mean, I grew up with you, so I knew how much of a fuck-up you are… but this just takes the cake. Maybe if I hadn't carried you through your entire pathetic existence you'd have a little bit more of a backbone. I went to hell for you, Sam. _For you._ It wasn't even my problem, and I was never this much of a little bitch."

If there was ever a time when Sam shut up altogether, it would have to be moments like this; when Sam had no argument. He knew that Dean was telling the truth, so what was there to argue?

"I'm… I'm s-sorry."

With a huff, Dean shrugged. "I don't care."

"…Dean..."

"Mhmm?" It took but the sound of his name for Dean's head to jerk up from his pillow. His dream, whatever it had been, was lost before he could remember it, and Dean got the feeling that he hadn't been sleeping very deeply at all. After a few seconds his eyes adjusted to the darkness; he could see the twin bed beside him, and it wasn't hard to pinpoint the overgrown man underneath the covers. What got Dean's bells ringing in an instant was that the overgrown man wasn't asleep. "Sam?"

"I can't…

Untangling himself from the restraints of the covers, Dean freed his legs and jumped across the space to the other bed. "Hey, relax man. We're at Bobby's…."

"Dean _please…"_

Jesus Christ. Dean's heart sunk into his gut, and for a moment he stayed. Then he reached out to gently shake the trembling giant before him. "Sammy, wake up."

Sam jerked under Dean's touch, pushing back with an absentminded elbow, and made some sort of coughing noise under his breath. Navigating the flailing limbs as best as he could, Dean grabbed hold of the arm closest to him. He narrowly avoided a hit to the face in the process. Sam's eyelids flew back like curtains on a drawstring, and his chest puffed up as he made another coughing sound.

"Mmmmnngggh…." Sam's forehead scrunched, and he tugged at Dean's grip on his arm. His eyes flew every which way, and Dean realized after a few seconds that they weren't focussed on anything. And the wheezing sound that escaped his throat.

Eyes widening, Dean quickly stood. "Doc!" Wide strides took him to the doorway in an instant, and he hurried out in a panic. "Doc, get out here!"

He scampered to the side of the bed, where Sam continued to flail helplessly on the mattress. "I can't… God, Dean… Just… ugh…. Please."

"Sam, breathe." Despite the fact that the lights were all on upstairs – that being, of course that Sam was fully awake – there seemed to be nobody home. Dean sat on the edge of the bed to lean over his brother, and could literally _feel_ him trembling beside him. When his hip pushed up against Sam's side, he was rewarded by an arm to the temple. "..Jesus Christ… Doc!"

"…Dean, what's…?" Davidson's voice echoed out in the hallway, paired with the thumping of bare feet on hardwood. The sound stopped right behind him. "Move. Now."

Suddenly there was a hand tugging on the back of Dean's t-shirt, pulling him backwards, and he stumbled back away from the bed. Davidson swooped in hurriedly. Floating over Sam, his hands waited while his eyes watched. Although he was generally a calm man and was more able to restrain himself than Dean, the mild panic in his expression was apparent.

"Dean, go downstairs and grab the nebulizer." The doctor spoke over his shoulder without turning to look. When Dean hesitated, he did. "Dean? Now!"

"I… okay." Dean bit his bottom lip, out of place. He was usually the one patching Sam up, but he had no experience here. What if Sam – No, he couldn't think like that. He had learned to follow orders before, and could do so again. Turning to flee down the stairs, Dean took them three at a time. Sam's nebulizer was plugged into the wall by the couch, and he skidded onto his knees to pull the cord free and scoop the machine into his arms. Holding it against his chest like a newborn baby, he rushed up to the spare room as quickly as he could manage. When he made it back, he fell to his knees by the bed and none-to-gently dropped the machine on the floor. Sliding onto his stomach, he angled himself behind the bed-side table to reach the plug-in, and shoved the metal prongs in sloppily. The machine made a whirring sound when Dean did so, and he could already hear Davidson reaching down to power it up. "…him down," Davidson mumbled above him, in the midst of Sam's wheezing and incoherent babble.

Dean's head popped up, and he jumped to his feet awkwardly.

"I'm going to need you to hold him down!" Davidson repeated through clenched teeth, having trouble getting through Sam's large waving arms with a mask in his hand.

Nearly jumping the end of the bed to get to the other side, Dean crawled onto it and grabbed one of Sam's arms guiltily. "Sammy, look at me, man. You're… _oomph_!" Narrowly blocking a hit from one of Sam's muscular arms, Dean reached over and wrapped a fist around one of Sam's wrists, pulling it towards him. "…You need to _calm down,_ alright? Just…. Can… Can you hear me?"

At first Dean was relieved when Sam relaxed in his arms, but that was until he saw how quickly the rise and fall of Sam's chest was progressing. With every breath it moved faster and faster, and moved less and less. His babble had been reduced to hyperventilation. Dean felt his own breath hike in his chest in anxiety, and he found himself rubbing Sam's shoulder up and down. "Sam… You're okay… it's gonna be okay… Sam?"

Sam continued to pull at Dean's grasp, even though his attempts were limited. Dean realized that he was trying to reach for his chest. "…Dean _please_…"

"You're going to be alright, son. Just hold still…" Brian's attempt at a calm voice oozed over them without effect.

For a while Dean had believed that Sam didn't realize he was here, and he froze at the use of his own name. "Sam… We're trying to help you, god damnit! Just stop moving so the doc can" –

"_Please_" –

"What in the blazes!" Gruff as ever, Bobby's cry of surprise cut through the rest of Sam's plea like a fog horn. At the sight of the struggle before him, he stepped into the room tepidly. "Brian, what's" –

"Call an ambulance!" Davidson ordered over his shoulder desperately. "And get my bag from my room!" With that, Bobby disappeared.

Sam was finally subdued enough to let Davidson anywhere near his face, and the doctor held the mask over his mouth and slipped the cord behind his head gently. When it was fastened, Sam's head whipped back and forth like a dog trying to be rid of his muzzle. If Dean didn't know any better, he would have sworn that Sam's moaning under his breath were the sounds of a dog as well.

Dean's ears perked up at the sound of Bobby's voice growling over the phone line down the hall. "….near Sioux Falls… Yeah, the one just 8 miles west…. Singer Salvage…. Mhmm… Please, just get here soon! Uh huh… Yeah, there's a doctor here with him. He's…. yeah… yeah… Okay. Just hurry."

Not twenty seconds later, Bobby returned with a large bag in hand. "Where do you want it, doc?"

"Take him – here!" Brian slid over and made room for Bobby, who set the bag down at the foot of the bed and grabbed Sam's arm from the doctor's grasp.

"Shhh… Sam. Easy, kiddo." Singer shushed over the flailing hunter paternally. "You're okay. Just relax…"

Davidson knelt on the ground and undid two loud plastic buckles, pulling back a Velcro lid to reveal the contents of a medical bag. He pulled out a syringe and injected it into a tiny glass vial of clear fluid, whispering to himself as he measured the right dosage. Then he stood on shaky legs to stand over Sam warily.

"Sam, I want you to take it easy, alright?" It sounded as if Davidson's words were spoken out of routine; However, the uncertainty there was clear. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"N… No d-drugs." To the surprise of everyone, Sam spoke out after what felt like years of silence. The room winced as one.

Brian gently tilted Sam's face to the side, sticking the needle into his anterior choroid artery. "Trust me, Sam, you're going to be okay."

The three men remained where they were for almost thirty seconds, emitting a mixture of quiet shushes and pleas, until Sam's squirming eventually stopped. Davidson removed the needle and set it on the counter without a word. The lines around his lips were pursed.

Dean's eyes remained on Sam even while Bobby and the doctor pulled away. Although it disturbed him to feel his brother's arm go limp in his hands, he dared not let go. Sam had almost been taken from him once again, and that felt like a reality that was not yet expired.

"Brian?" Bobby cleared his throat softly, rubbing his beard with a nervous hand.

Davidson grabbed the hand closest to him and pressed two fingers into Sam's wrist. "Mhmm?"

"What'd you give him?"

"Just a sedative, Bobby…." Obviously distracted with checking Sam's heartbeat, Davidson's voice was distant.

"Oh."

It felt like Dean had taken a blow to the stomach. Sitting down beside his limp brother, still grasping him for dear life, he slid his fingers into the inside of Sam's wrist. At the rapid pulsing under his fingertips, he raised his eyes to the doctor in understanding. Davidson reached down to the floor and fiddled with the knobs of the machine that fed Sam's oxygen mask. Dean distracted himself with observing Sam's heartbeat, which slowly decreased to a level that seemed just below normal. When a hand suddenly clasped his shoulder, Dean flinched.

"He's in good hands, Dean. He'll be alright." Bobby's warm voice tickled Dean's ear, and he turned his face slightly in response. He

Davidson faced the room and rested his hands on his hips, looking tired. "What was he doing?"

"I thought he was having a nightmare." Dean let go of Sam's arm gingerly, realizing that it wasn't appropriate to hold on any longer. But he dared not move away. "He was making weird noises. I don't think he knew who I was, and he, you know…" Shrugging, Dean ran a thumb over his dry lips in thought. "He freaked out and started to hyperventilate. I think his chest hurt, because he kept… grabbing at it."

The sound of sirens pierced the painful silence, and they all rose their heads.

"Bobby, go downstairs and bring the paramedics up here." Davidson straightened sluggishly and smoothed down the wrinkles in his cotton t-shirt with a flat hand. In his thin blue sweatpants and bare-feet, he looked more like a tired patient than a commanding medical examiner. It seemed that Dean was getting a glimpse into his emotional state.

"Doc, is he" –

"Dean, I'm going to ride with Sam in the ambulance. I will make sure that Sam is taken care of. You and Bobby start up your car and follow behind us." Brian smoothed back his ruffled hair subconsciously, and then gave Dean a stern look.

"I'm not" –

All of a sudden the room was a hive of activity. Dean didn't notice Bobby leave, but the presence of the paramedics felt like an intrusion.

"Please move, sir." A bulky man with raven hair forcefully pulled Dean off the bed and swooped in, soon joined by a man with a ginger beard. "What happened?"  
"He's had a panic attack and hyperventilated. I've given him moderate benzodiazepines and ten minutes of oxygen treatment." Davidson stepped forward and moved to the bed, helping the two men move Sam onto a stretcher without their permission. "I'm a doctor, a friend of Bobby's. He called me last night when Sam had a work accident. His symptoms suddenly escalated."

Work accident. Dean visually flinched at the term. This was no accident, but the effects of brutal torture. How could someone explain their situation to hospital staff? How could anyone help his brother with this without knowing? He barely noticed the two paramedics giving each other nervous looks from the corner of their eye as they lifted Sam up and pulled him from the room. Davidson flew after them, barking in medical gibberish, and Dean found himself alone.

After the momentary numbness had subsided, Dean found himself consciously aware of his presence. He couldn't drive to the hospital in his boxers... Methodically he reached for his duffel, dumping it's contents on the bed, and violently shoved his legs into a pair of jeans and his arms into a t-shirt. Soon he was fully-dressed, and without bothering to button up his flannel Dean slid his arms into his coat. He barely thought to grab his keys from the countertop before rushing downstairs. Bobby met him at the bottom, also dressed, but his hat was askew and his shirt was oddly creased. If Dean had the gift of introspection right then, he would imagine that he looked exactly the same way. Without a word, the two men slid their poorly-socked feet into their boots and hurried out to the car.

"Dean, he's gonna be" –

"I know." Shoving his key generously into the ignition, Dean felt the Impala rumble to a state of life beyond him.

"I've known Davidson for years. He's patched me up many a-time, and other hunters too. Sam's in good" –

"Good hands, I know." Mumbling through a clenched jaw, Dean barely winced as the car spun under his rapid acceleration, spitting rocks up against the side of Bobby's house. In the impenetrable silence that followed, he could almost feel the touch of Bobby's sight on the side of his face. It didn't help ease the tumult in his soul.

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So thanks yet again for all of you wonderful readers who have read, reviewed, and/or send me lovely emails. I read ALL of them (usually repeatedly) and feel like a little girl with my first crush whenever they show up in my inbox. Your support is appreciated so much, thank you!

I wish I could give you chapters on a regular basis, and it frustrates me that school is taking up so much of my time. I am trying to keep my GPA as high as possible so that I can qualify to enter an Honours Program in Creative Writing, which will hopefully qualify me to write for television in a few years. I am excited to learn from the experts and continue to grow as a writer. In the meantime, feel free to give me constructive criticism whenever you wish. What did you like about each chapter, and how can I improve? I am open to constructive feedback on my writing style, characterization, plot structure, and so on. Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you thought!


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